A Simple Change of Heart
by Evereven
Summary: A scouting party from Imladris stumbles upon an Orc raid in progress. The story of Elladan and Elrohir in their fight to keep the only survivor alive. Warning: Strong R rating - Violence and fairly graphic rape. AU Complete
1. Dealing Out Death

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**A/N: To anyone reading this, whether you've read it previously or are a first-time reader, I am in the process of trying to edit _A Simple Change of Heart_. In so doing, I have messed up the chapter titles - they no longer correspond to the correct numbers. I'm trying to fix it, but I'm not sure how, so I may end up deleting it entirely and then uploading it again correctly. I've not found a simple way of changing the chapter numbers once you have messed them up. Sorry for any confusion - there are no new chapters, although there is some minor content change. (August 2010)  
**

hey had come.

The moment Jeren had been hoping she would never experience was finally here.

She watched from behind the back corner of her small house, the only shelter afforded her, to see a band of six—no, seven—Orcs creep stealthily through her yard. She had been down to the brook below the house to fetch water for the day, and on her way back she suddenly caught sight of her dreaded and unwelcome visitors.

Keeping her wits about her, she was able to save her bucket full of water—her first instinct had been to drop it. That would have given her presence away surely. She ducked behind the house and prayed silently that they would go inside and not venture into the back yard. If only she had a weapon! She'd not thought to arm herself earlier, as she had made the trip down to the brook. She hadn't expected to be entertaining company today, at least company that she would need to defend herself against. S_he prayed that the Orcs wouldn't find her. She had no wish to entertain the likes of them today—or ever._

Her only hope was to run.

Jeren closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, she willed herself to calm. Her heart was beating so fast she was breathless. Nausea worked its way up her throat. She fought to keep both under control.

Thoughts of her father helped slow her panic. He had insisted she learn to defend herself. He worked long hours trying to teach her the bow, but she had thus far not been able to master it. She was passable with it, but inevitably her arm would falter, and her shot would go wild as a result. It wasn't nerve she lacked. She just did not have the strength in her arms to pull the string to its full extent, to send the arrow to its target. In desperation, he introduced her to a long knife. Not a sword, for again her arms had not the strength nor length to wield it properly. She was very proficient with her long knife. The only trouble now was that she was outside and it was inside—and she was grossly outnumbered.

She must calm down. She was frozen with fear.

_Do not freeze up. _How many times in her young sixteen years had her father pounded this lesson into her brain? Focus and calm were her only hope. Panic and fear only hastened one's death. As she thought about her father, she felt her heart slow and her breathing ease. She must keep her head. Her father would expect it of her. He brooked no nonsense, yet she knew he loved her. When he was leaving to scout with the rangers, he would call her to him, and while staring at her, appearing not to care, would still hug her fiercely before he left.

Before Jeren's mother died, he'd hold Jeren at arm's length, staring down at her—boring holes into her brain, it felt—and tell her gruffly to mind her mother. Look out for her, for she could no longer look after herself. Her father—Dunadain. Proud descendent of Numenor. Ranger of the North. A tear escaped one of her eyes as she thought about her father. Her father, whom she had not seen nor heard from in three months. Did he even still live?

She stole another look around the corner of the house. _Valar, there were ten of them! _She couldn't help the silent tears as they leaked from her eyes. She tried to remember all she had learned about Orcs and self-defense. When she was younger, she and her mother lived an almost nomadic life, settling briefly with other families, in various places within easy distance of where her father was patrolling. They had lived thusly until her mother had contracted a wasting disease, rendering her frailer with each passing month. Her mother had chafed at her weakness; she was used to doing for herself, and she was fast becoming an invalid. It was with a heavy heart that she—along with Jeren—settled here permanently, in the Angle, just within the northernmost edge, near another settlement of the rangers' families. Here she and Jeren stayed, living simply, longing for the infrequent stops the man of the house would make.

And it was here that Jeren's mother died in her arms, in her father's absence. When she knew her mother's death was imminent, Jeren fenced off a small section of the yard and began digging her mother's grave. She hoped her mother had not been aware enough to notice what she was doing. She didn't wish to burden her any more than she already was. The pain her mother endured was terribly hard for Jeren to witness. She would sit in her mother's bed, holding her as she wept with the pain. Not once did she complain or wish for death—at least not out loud. Jeren had buried her mother, reciting a made-up prayer to the Valar as she shoveled earth upon her mother's shrouded body.

That was three years ago. A month after Jeren's mother had died, her father finally returned home to find his wife dead. Jeren thought she would die from the heartbreak of seeing him weep. Her father, the steadfast and hard ranger, who never showed weakness of any kind no matter how desperate the circumstances, had slumped before her and sobbed. After that, when he would ride out on patrol, he took Jeren with him, not wishing to leave her alone. After all, he had failed his wife by not being here when she needed him most. He would not fail his daughter as well.

It was during that time that Jeren was taught most of what she knew of the Dunadain. She and her father would sit near their campfire at night, and he would tell her tales of their people—of her history and ancestors. Sometimes other rangers would be with them, but mostly, they were on their own. When he wasn't patrolling his area, he would teach her the proper care and use of weapons in defending herself.

She had seen Orcs before now, certainly, but she had never come face to face with one. The closest she ever got to them was during raids they would visit upon the rangers' makeshift settlements at times. She would hide as she had been taught to do, watching events transpire. There she saw first hand the savagery of these fiendish beasts, and the savagery they evoked in those who fought them.

As the times grew darker, and Middle Earth was fair teeming with other evil creatures as well as Orcs, Jeren's father came to the decision that she would be better off back at home. She had neighbors, though the nearest was at least two leagues away. He would have them check up on her from time to time. She would be safer.

Jeren gave a silent laugh. Safer. _Certainly she was_.

Jerking herself back to the present, Jeren gritted her teeth in determination. She would get away and she would do it now. She would get to the barn beside the house, and ride Jones, her mare, out of this deathtrap. She would make for the cover of the thicket behind the barn and be gone. It would not be easy guiding Jones through the brush and trees, but Jeren needed to escape, and she wanted to be quick about it. Jones had been her horse for six years, and Jeren was very attached to her. She would not consider leaving Jones to the cruelty of the Orcs_. Valar knew what they would do to her_.

Jones had quite a mean streak in her, so perhaps she would afford Jeren a measure of protection. She had seen Jones get beset by a wolf once, and instead of running, as any normal horse would do, Jones charged it. Of course this resulted in the wolf getting a hold on her throat, but her father had been quick enough with his bow that Jones didn't take much damage. Jeren didn't stop to think that taking the horse would involve using valuable time. Time she did not have.

Keeping her spine against the back wall of the house, she inched her way toward the barn. The door was almost adjacent with her position now. A few steps later, she came to the window. Crouching down, hoping to hide from fiendish eyes, she carefully inched her face up until she could just see over the windowsill. She could see them now. Filthy, stinking creatures rifling through her belongings, throwing and breaking things, and laughing while they did it. She frowned as she saw them gleefully tear open a sack of flour, and send its contents flying through the air in a miniature blizzard throughout the house. _That flour was supposed to last her for months, yet. Curse their fiendish hides! _

She inched back down. They seemed preoccupied enough for now. Continuing against the wall, she crouched and sidled past the window. As soon as she was clear of it she stood, and with her spine against the wall once again, continued her careful trek toward the barn. When she reached the far corner of the house, she stopped and took a quick look around to make sure there were no Orcs acting as sentries while the others ransacked the house. She knew there were none in the barn. She'd had her eye trained on it since she'd first spotted these animals, and Jones would have surely put up a fuss by now that could be heard for a league.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Jeren dashed to the barn, as quietly as she could, though her footsteps sounded as thunder to her ears. She opened the door and slid inside, closing it behind her in one motion. She slumped against the door, breathing hard, trying to stay calm. She was halfway there. All she had to do now was get a bridle on Jones and be away.

Wasting no time, she quickly retrieved a bridle from a nail on a wall of the barn. She shoved the bit into the mare's mouth, murmuring her apologies for being so rough and hurried. The horse was alert with ears pricked and forward, sensing and smelling the danger of creatures unfamiliar.

Jeren's fear increased suddenly at the realization of the choice she now faced: should she hop up on Jones and flee quickly, risking the noise the horse's hooves would make, or sneak out on foot, leading the horse quietly until they were far enough away that the noise would not be heard? In the first plan's favor was speed. However, arrows were swift to catch up with someone who was an easy target on horseback. The second plan's only asset was stealth. It would be easier to keep the sound of the mare's steps quieter were she to walk her out of the barn instead of dashing out. And she could use the horse to shield her from arrows. She felt a stab of shame as she thought of using Jones in such a fashion. _What in Eru's name do I do?_

She tried to remember if her father had ever mentioned to her before how to solve such a dilemma. She could not remember anything about retreat. Perhaps in her fear she was forgetting that particular lesson_. I will probably remember what he said as I gaze down upon my dead body from the Halls of Mandos_. With no experience to guide her, she decided to go on foot. She stopped and prayed to the Valar for protection.

Jeren looked around the barn for something—anything—she could use as a weapon. Her eyes lit on the pitchfork. _Valar, it was so heavy_. But there was nothing else, so she grabbed it up, and leading Jones by the reins, made for the door. She leaned her erstwhile weapon against the wall and stole a peek outside. It looked to be clear. Arming herself with the pitchfork once more, she left the barn, only opening the door far enough for her and Jones to sneak out.

Shamefully, she did use Jones as a shield against unwanted eyes. She tried to stay calm, but the horse was starting to prance and nicker nervously. _Please be quiet. They will hear us._ She was almost to the thicket behind the barn, starting to give praise to the Valar when she heard a whistle of an arrow in flight and a thud as it hit its mark. Jones dropped to the ground, thrashing and screaming wildly. Jones had been shot, an arrow piercing her neck. Startled, Jeren had dropped the pitchfork and it was now beneath the horse. She had to retrieve it—she was defenseless otherwise. Not thinking about the mare's thrashing hooves, she bent to grab the fork. In her pain and terror the mare struck out, and with one of her front feet, hit Jeren with full force just below her neck, on her right shoulder, raking her hoof down Jeren's chest. Jeren was thrown back a few feet and landed squarely on her rear, but with fear coursing through her veins, she didn't register any of the pain. She abandoned her quest for the pitchfork and began running toward the thicket.

Three of the Orcs from inside the house had wandered out the back door to see what they may find, when their eyes beheld horseflesh. One of them set an arrow to his bow and fired, hitting the horse squarely in the neck. He howled with delight in seeing his success and in watching the helpless creature thrash about. It was then that they spotted Jeren. _Oh, a meal and games. What more could an Orc wish for in one raid?_

Jeren had made her way about fifteen yards into the thicket when two of the Orcs caught up to her. They grabbed her roughly and began dragging her, kicking and cursing, back the way they had come. She fought so hard the Orcs finally grabbed her arms and legs, pinning them beneath their stinking arms. When they had finally reached the clearing of the yard, Jeren's fear rose to all out panic. In the open they would be able to do whatever they wanted to her. She began struggling harder and succeeded in working one of her feet loose, kicking the unfortunate Orc that was in its path directly in the groin. He dropped and yowled in pain, forcing the other one to tighten his arms around Jeren, holding her up high around the chest. Unfortunately for him, his hand was within easy reach of her mouth and she bit him—hard. He dropped her instantly, grabbing his bleeding hand and cursing her in his black language.

She scrambled to her feet, making another dash toward the thicket, but was tackled from behind, sending her face hard into the ground. She tasted her blood; she had smashed her lips against her teeth. She was still several feet from the edge of the thicket.

She was turned over by the third Orc of the party, but she was still not going to surrender. The other two joined him and they were very angry to say the least. They jeered in her face and began ripping her clothes. She kicked and screamed and clawed at them. She managed to dig a fingernail into the eye of one and he decided he'd had enough from her. He drew back his fist and cuffed Jeren, the blow glancing off her left cheekbone, just missing her eye. She was stunned, but not rendered unconscious. She was weakened and tired; besides fighting her attackers, she had been losing blood from a gash she'd taken in the chest from Jones' hoof.

Jeren's weak attempts were laughable to the Orcs and they began to run their tongues over her face and lips. She screamed again and when she opened her mouth, one of the animals thrust his tongue inside. She bit down as hard as she could—and tasted his blood. The putrid tang of it made her gag, so she spit it at him. She was now beyond sensible thought and the horror of what she had done didn't even faze her. The Orc rocked away, holding his face in his hands.

That, apparently, was the last straw. One of the Orcs that wasn't too badly injured stood and kicked her in the left side of her head. She didn't have time to feel the pain. There was no fear anymore. Just blackness. She was down and still. Out.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When she came to, it was to a horror too terrible to believe. Her arms and legs were pinned to the ground. She gradually became aware of weight on top of her, rocking and slamming into her. It hurt so much, she fought to open her eyes to see what in the Valar's name was happening to her. As soon as she opened her eyes she wished that she hadn't. Only inches from her face was the face of her attacker, the hatred for her and her kind etched in his features. She screamed and received a slap in the face from another Orc, one waiting for his turn at her. Combined with the other abuse she had endured from these animals, the slap was successful in rendering her helpless, even though she did not lose consciousness.

She lay there and endured what they did to her. Three of them forced themselves on her, as she lay there semiconscious, aware but not caring—just enduring. She had no strength with which to fight any more. She kept her eyes closed. She couldn't bear to see their faces, the twisted dirty visages that would haunt her from this day on. If only she hadn't opened her eyes. _If only_.

Jeren let her mind take her away from this nightmare. She saw her mother, as she was before she was sick. She actually spoke to her.

"Jeren, my baby, it is so wonderful to see you!" her mother exclaimed, holding her arms out for her daughter to run into their sheltering embrace. Jeren could feel her mother's warmth and feel her fingers gently running through her hair. She could smell the lavender scent her mother wore all the time.

Her mother kissed her on the cheek, then held her out from her. "You've grown so, my angel. You aren't a girl anymore. You're a woman. And I am _so_ proud of you, too. You have fought and beaten these beasts like nothing I've ever seen! I am here with you, baby. Do not give up or give in. These nasty animals cannot take the most important part of you. They cannot take your heart, unless you allow them to. Please, baby, do not allow them to take it. You can handle this; I know you can." Her mother continued to stroke her hair and comfort her with her gentle words of encouragement.

"But Mother," Jeren began, "I don't think I can do what you are asking of me. This is too horrible. I will never be able to think of anything but this as long as I live. I cannot see past this moment right now. Will I be all right, Mother? Will you please stay here with me?"

"I will be right here for as long as you need me," her mother assured her. She then pulled Jeren down to sit with her and gathered her into her arms. She rocked her daughter, back and forth, loving her and holding her until she no longer would need her.

Jeren didn't believe she would ever stop needing her mother, and it felt so wonderful to be in her arms again—being in her strong embrace once more, not as she was right before her death, but as she was when she was healthy and strong.

It was with her mother's arms around her that she slipped into blissful slumber. Her mother was here. She would be all right.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	2. Waking Nightmares

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

The area around the small house was quiet, but there were sounds of celebration coming from inside. Elladan waited, crouched in the woods surrounding the perimeter of the house. From his vantage point he could see almost the entire area. Just the space behind and to the left of the small cabin was hidden from his sight. The sounds of Orcs ransacking the dwelling were sickening to the Elf. Even after centuries of hunting Orcs in the wilds of Middle Earth, Elladan's hatred of them had not abated, it had grown. The hateful fiends all deserved to die—these ones today especially.

He could see at least one victim of their cruelty lying in the dirt between the house and the barn. With his keen eyesight, he could see her—a young, naked girl lying still as death. She was covered in blood, both hers and theirs. Orcish blood is a putrid black and she had plenty of that on her, as well as her own. This girl had inflicted some damage. _Good for you, little girl! _

Perhaps she was dead, but Elladan would not leave that to chance. He would make certain for himself. There was no cover to hide him from her attackers, but he felt confident in his own stealthy silence, so he waited no more. He quietly scurried to the cabin keeping low to avoid detection. Flattening against the wood of the outside wall, he waited to catch his breath and listened to see if he could sense any change in the revelry going on inside. He could not. Looking all around him, and listening as well, he could feel no immediate danger—only his disgust for the animals inside the house.

When Elladan got to the young victim, he checked for signs of life. It seemed miraculous, but she still breathed. However, she was beaten severely and Valar only knew what injuries might be inside the bruised body that lay before him. Without further hesitation, Elladan lifted the girl gently, being careful to keep close to the ground should the Orcs' attention return to their victim for more entertainment—or supper—whichever mood may strike them.

He spied the dead horse in the dirt by the barn and decided that the Orcs had already had their evening meal. He grimaced in disgust at how savage Orcs were. The girl groaned softly as he lifted her; even in her unconscious state, her pain must have been great. He moved silently into the thicket, and once well inside the cover of the underbrush, he lowered the broken and bloody body of the young girl onto the ground. Pausing momentarily to listen for unwanted company, he crouched, alert as only an Elf can be. Satisfied that they had not been detected, he unclasped his cloak and settled it upon the girl's naked body.

He took a few moments to collect himself. His rage grew each time he came across another helpless victim of Orcs. But even though this girl had taken quite a beating, she was by no means helpless: the Orcish blood on her showed how much of a fight she'd given them. He pushed his hatred for the scourge of Middle Earth into the back of his mind. After breathing deeply for a few seconds, his alertness never waning, he began examining the wounds of the girl he had just rescued.

He moved his cloak aside to reveal the ugly wound that had obviously been inflicted by a weapon wielded with great strength. The small but deadly curved swords the Orcs preferred did not make this type of wound. The injury was not bleeding badly—it must have been made at least few hours prior. It ran from the inner edge of her right breast a short distance from her sternum and extended downward about four inches—right over her heart. Thank the Valar that whatever weapon had been used hadn't hit her any harder or she would most certainly be dead. The cut was deep considering its location, laying open, exposing two ribs. The cracks in the ribs were visible to his Elven eyes.

He would have to wait, unfortunately, to tend to this wound. He had nothing with him to use for such a purpose. Instead he would cover it, trying to keep more dirt from settling within. He tore a piece of the shirt beneath his tunic and folded it into a makeshift bandage. He laid it loosely over the wound. That would have to do until he could tend it after he'd dealt with these Orcs.

Sitting back on his heels for a few seconds, he moved the remainder of the cloak from her. He looked in disgust at the bloody and bruised body of the girl before him. She had been raped he was sure. The blood around her upper thighs was evidence of that. He felt a stab of sorrow for the way she had lost her virginity. What should have been a beautiful experience had been shattered for her. Tearing his eyes away from her, he covered her once again with his cloak. With sadness, he gazed at the rest of her injuries. She was terribly young; he could only imagine the terror she endured.

Beginning with her face, he took in the swollen and blackened left eye. Carefully, with sure but light touches, he checked for broken bone. None was apparent. She had a deep cut at her bruised left temple almost extending to the outer corner of her eyelid, but a few well-placed stitches should be sufficient to close it. He felt around her entire skull, noting the knot to one side of the cut near her eye. _It would be surprising if the girl was not concussed_. There seemed to be no other wounds on her head besides the cut and blackened eye and the head injury. He checked her jaws, taking her slender face into his two hands and feeling along the bones. They also seemed to be intact.

Then he saw what he had missed before. Her clavicle had obviously been broken. Her fair skin was bruised a dark purple and a large red knot was forming on top of the break. He had seen this injury before. Judging from the reaction of those he had tended who had suffered such a break, it was painful to the extreme. There was nothing to be done for it now. The only cure for this type of injury was the passing of time and stillness of the one suffering from it. It would have to wait until after Elrohir and the others arrived, when they could send these animals to wherever they went after death. He hoped the place was as horrible as they deserved.

He glanced up, trying to see beyond the tall grass. He wondered what could be delaying his brother and the other scouts from Imladris. Perhaps they had overtaken some of this band and were dealing with them now. There were still at least a few inside the girl's house. He could hear their guttural speech and arguments over whatever spoils they had procured from inside. He sat in the grass beside the girl, trying to decide if he should leave her and dispatch the remaining Orcs or just wait for Elrohir and the others.

After only a few minutes he grew tired of idleness, and rose to a crouching position again. He made his way back to the edge of the thicket. Pausing momentarily to be sure he was still alone, he scurried across the dirt to the barn. He opened the door slightly, slowly looking inside. He crept in silently, eyes focused for the detection of any movement, ears trained for the slightest sound. He couldn't detect the feeling of peril the presence of Orcs always elicited. The monsters' stench was such that he surely would not miss that. Also, he would be able to hear an Orc's raspy breathing from fifty feet away, so the silence of the barn indicated that none were present. He retraced his steps to the door and hurried quietly across the clearing to the back of the house. He rose slowly to peek inside a window gracing the back wall. He silently thanked whoever had the foresight to place a window in the small cabin. It made this task much easier.

As his eyes slowly rose to look over the windowsill, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He could see three Orcs and could hear the voice of at least one more out of the range of his sight. Four, perhaps five, of the foul beasts. Thinking about the bloody and torn victim in the brush of the thicket, he wanted to take the Orcs on himself. However, even though the girl lying in the brush looked as if she was nearly beaten to death, none of her injuries were life threatening, so he had no need of great speed. But he hated waiting like this.

As if on cue, he heard the signal used by the warriors of Imladris, announcing their presence. Breathing a sigh of thanks that this waiting was over, Elladan backed away from the house and stealthily made his way toward the sound of the signal he'd just heard. He crept into the trees that grew just around the perimeter of the house and yard and there he found Elrohir and the others. There were seven Elves, so the odds of having any trouble with these Orcs were slim to none. Using hand signals they formed a plan and set about executing it. Time and experience made words unnecessary.

Wishing to lure the Orcs out into the open, the Elves began purposely making just enough noise to be heard by their prey. As expected, the Orcs began appearing in the doorway, carefully looking outside. By this time, the warrior Elves had split into three groups—one group on either side of the house, using the sidewalls as cover, and another group hidden in the trees bordering the front of the clearing in which the house sat. They continued to make soft noises to ensure investigation by the beasts they hunted. Elladan had again positioned himself at the back window, watching to see how many Orcs would be lured outside.

The Orcs could hear the calls of small birds, but they were oblivious to their meaning. Elladan was signaling the number and position of their prey, as five of the Orcs took tentative steps outside the front door.

Elladan quickly flattened his spine against the back wall of the house. Two of the Orcs had decided to investigate outside in the backyard. _Seven had been inside_._ Oh well, one couldn't be right all the time. _

These two were his. His face broke into a feral grin. He waited and listened. The quiet was palpable by this time. Elladan kept his ears trained for sounds from the front of the house as well as those made by the Orcs headed his way. He could hear their soft footfalls. As they drew nearer, he slipped around the corner of the house to remain hidden. He knew if he turned, he would see his brother or some of his friends behind him, using the front side of the house for cover. He stooped to grab a handful of small stones from the ground.

Fighting to keep his tension under control, Elladan closed his eyes, breathing deeply. There it was—the creak of the back door opening slowly. He could hear one of the Orcs—trying desperately to be quiet and failing miserably—making his way down the back steps. Trying to draw the Orcs farther out into the yard, Elladan threw his handful of stones into the grass about fifty yards from the back door. A black arrow whistled through the air toward the place where the rocks had fallen. He was rewarded for his efforts, when he heard stealthy Orcish footsteps wandering closer. Elladan backed up until he was just behind the other Elves on his side of the house and lifted his bow from around his shoulder. From somewhere in the brush skirting the front yard a whistle was heard, telling the other Elves that their comrades were in position to fire if the others were ready. There was an answering call.

If these Orcs acted as most did, they had immediately upon entering the house searched for liquor. The Elves were expecting this to be so, for Orcs could be horribly predictable. However, the Elves never let down their guard. Occasionally, an Orc with a bit of cunning would be amongst the witless ones. If these beasts had found and imbibed in some sort of spirits, they had probably become careless enough for them all to emerge from the safety of the house. If not, then so be it. These Orcs were dead one way or another.

Elladan gave the all clear and arrows began whistling through the air. The Elves covering the front of the house fired first and this alerted the Orcs in the backyard to make haste to join their comrades. This was what Elladan had been waiting for. The first Orc around the back corner of the house did not even have time to register shock at seeing Elladan before an arrow was piercing his brow. The other Orc actually tripped over his friend in his haste to join the fray. Elladan drew his arrow back and waited. The Orc slowly looked up from his place in the dirt. Elladan walked toward the nasty creature, with his eyes slitted and the feral grin once more in place. He held his bow at the ready to let loose the arrow he was aiming at the hapless creature. Years of long practice allowed him to sense that the other Elves had taken care of the Orcs that had emerged from the house in front. There was again eerie quiet.

Continuing to walk toward his victim, Elladan held his arrow trained on the space between the Orc's dark eyes. Elladan wanted to see fear. He was not disappointed. The Orc, while saying nothing and making no sound, was obviously terrified. Elladan held out the moment. Let the beast sweat. Let him wonder if he maybe had a chance to live through this after all. Others may have thought the Elf cruel for his deed, but those who knew Elladan knew his actions, though misguided, were justified in his mind.

Elladan wanted kill this Orc slowly. He represented all of his kind at this moment. Every Orc he had ever slain reminded Elladan of the Orcs who had violated and broken his own mother. They deserved at least the punishment they had served to her. No they deserved more, for they were cruel and foul by nature and Celebrian was beautiful and gentle. He grew tired of keeping his bowstring taut, and, deciding the beast wasn't worth the strain, fired the arrow into the Orc's skull, ending the quiet torture. Elladan slowly lowered his bow.

He jumped when he felt his brother's hand touch his shoulder. At Elladan's swift reaction, Elrohir shied away for a moment. He knew exactly where his twin's mind had been—his own visited there much too often. They remained quiet and still, allowing the other Elves time to investigate inside, making sure the whole slew of Orcs had been slain. Likewise, the last group of Elves was in the process of scouting the surrounding wood for any Orcish stragglers. After a few moments of unnatural quiet, a barrage of ringing swords was heard coming from within the house. Almost as soon as it started it was over. The twins let out a long breath, glad that this task was done. Elladan and Elrohir crept toward the backyard, meeting the two Elves who had been inside as they came out the back door. They all watched and waited for a few minutes more. They finally heard the whistle for all clear. The Elves just outside the back door relaxed and were joined by the scouts from the surrounding wood. They had no cause for stealth any longer. None of the Elves could sense any lingering danger. Ten Orcs had just given their lives for the spoils of one small cabin in the trees.

"There were three more inside, but they live no more," Celduin announced. "We've gotten them all in there. That brings the total to ten here."

"There's a barn yonder," stated Galion quietly. "Has anyone investigated inside?"

"There are none in the barn," Elladan said. _Ten? I am not often that far wrong!_ He started walking toward the thicket, skirting the dead horse in his path. He walked toward the place he'd left the injured girl, motioning the others to follow him. "I found a girl out here in the yard. She's been beaten pretty badly, but I think she will live. I hid her in the wood."

"Elladan, we slew five others not a hundred yards from where we split up," commented Tarmenel.

Celduin chuckled, "You mean we slew while you retched."

"I did not retch," Tarmenel retorted. "I merely gagged. I was taken aback by the stench of them. What do you suppose they had been rolling in, to acquire such an odor?"

Elladan shook his head, smiling. It was always a welcome relief to engage in these light arguments after a skirmish such as the one in which they had just taken part. It allowed the Elves to relax from the tension of the moment.

They drew near to the girl, parting the brush and grass to gain access to her. Elladan knelt on one knee, bending to run his hand over the right side of her face. She did not move or make any sound. Satisfied that she would be unaware of the pain he would inflict in lifting her, Elladan picked her up and began walking toward the house.

Celduin ran the short distance ahead and opened the door widely to accommodate the entry of Elladan and the slender victim in his arms. Glancing around the cabin, Elladan spied what he supposed would be a bedroom off to the left and made his way toward it, stepping over and around the debris left scattered by the Orcs as they ransacked the house. He walked to the neatly made bed and gently laid Jeren down upon it. Orcs never ceased to amaze him. The rest of the house was a shambles, but this bedroom had been untouched. You just could not make any sense of those creatures.

He removed his cloak from Jeren and replaced it with a quilt, which lay across the foot of the bed. He began issuing orders to the warriors waiting expectantly to help. Celduin and Galion were to remain inside, trying to put the cabin to rights, if at all possible. Perhaps they would be able to gather needed supplies to aid Elladan and Elrohir in their tending of the girl. Two of the others were going to fetch the horses they had set free before they had approached the clearing in which the house sat. The remaining Elves were to drag away the bodies of the dead Orcs, both inside and outside, and dispose of them.

Water was heated and bandages, found or made, were gathered and given to the twins. They started their ministrations while the others searched for anything else they may need or which might prove helpful in the girl's treatment.

Elrohir helped his brother prop the injured girl up on as many pillows and blankets as they could find. The break in the girl's clavicle would make even the simple act of breathing painful. Propping her up in this manner should ease that somewhat. Elladan's face was masked with indifference as he began to wash the blood and dirt from the girl's battered body.

Inside he was mourning her loss of innocence—both mental and physical—more than anything else. While his mother had of course not been virginal, she had, like this girl, endured violation by the Orcs, and in her own way, had lost her innocence as well. Using great care Elladan began running a warm damp cloth over the young woman's face. She still made no movement or sound, and he began to wonder if the knot on her head was more severe than he'd thought. He wiped at the dried blood around the cut near her left eye, wincing at the swollen purple bruise surrounding it. It would be a few days before she would be able to open that eye. The swelling was bad.

Elrohir joined him in cleaning the filth from the girl. Elladan shook his head. "It is a shame, is it not?"

Nodding, Elrohir replied, "It certainly is." Peeking beneath the quilt, which covered her he asked, "What's beneath this?"

"Beneath that," Elladan began, while continuing his bathing of the girl's face and neck, "is the body of a young girl who has been raped and brutalized. Judging from all the Orc blood she has on her, it looks like she gave them quite a fight. She must have been feisty enough that they felt it worth their while to keep her alive for a second go. Otherwise we may have found her in the same half-eaten state as we found her horse." Grimacing, he shook his head at the thought.

Elrohir let out a low whistle as he uncovered the gash on the girl's breast. "This certainly looks angry." He peered closer at it. "Deep, too. It will take quite a bit of sewing to close."

"Yes it will. It would be helpful if one of us were good at stitching. I'm afraid our lack of skill with the needle will leave her with some bad scarring. Where is Father when you need him?" Elladan met Elrohir's gaze and smiled.

"Speak for yourself, Brother," Elrohir scowled, playfully. "I happen to be second to Father, as far as the needle goes, _as_ you well know."

"According to you, maybe," was Elladan's reply.

The twins bathed Jeren for more than an hour, using a dozen basins of water. They carefully cleaned the dirt and nastiness from all her wounds, taking particular care with the huge gash on her chest. After that was cleansed, they poulticed it, and applied a bandage, wrapping it around her body a couple of times, effectively holding the ugly gash closed. They gingerly rinsed the blood and body fluids of the Orcs from her most private places. They mixed another herbal poultice and placed a pad of cloth there to hold it next to her skin. In their savage use of her, the Orcs had left her torn and bleeding.

Elladan called for another change of water in the basin and again began bathing the girl's face and neck with the warm, damp cloth. He wanted her to awaken and he would have thought by now that she would. Head wounds could not be taken lightly and she surely had a concussion. He was ready for her to open her eyes and show some of that spirit she was bound to have shown those Orcs. She would need plenty of heart to come to terms with all she had endured. He hoped she was up for it.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren was beginning to awaken. She was no longer cradled in her mother's arms. She was propped up in her bed, its softness a welcome relief. She felt a momentary pang of grief. Her mother was gone once again. She knew her mother would not desert her after she had promised to stay until the danger had passed, so Jeren felt as though she must be somewhat out of peril. She felt as if her body was leaden, weighted down and tied securely so that she could not move at all. _Valar, were the Orcs still holding her down? _

She listened for sounds of guttural black speech, but heard only the soft voices of people near her. They were speaking in a language foreign to her, but they were people. _Thank Eru, she had been found! _She struggled to open her eyes, but they wouldn't budge. A small moan escaped her in protest of the weakness she felt as she tried to force her eyes open.

Whoever it was that was washing her face was so gentle, and their touch was so comforting, she almost wished not to let them know she was awake for fear they would stop. A sudden thought rippled through her mind. _Was her mother here after all? _No, her mother had gone. This touch, while very soothing, lacked the same gentleness her mother always had.

Her will to be conscious was strong and she finally opened her eyes, though her left eye opened just a sliver. She looked up to see two men, one sitting on each side of her on the bed, looking at her expectantly. She blinked thinking she was seeing double, when one of the men chuckled and said, "Hello there. You have taken quite a bash in the head, but no, you are probably not having that much trouble with your sight. You are seeing twins."

Grasping the quilt close to her chest, she looked at these men. Wide-eyed with fear, she looked first at Elladan, who had spoken to her, and then at Elrohir. They wore like smiles. These two men were so identical she wondered how even their parents could tell them apart. They were beautiful, if one could call a man such a thing. From their long, satiny black hair to their fine chiseled features, they were the same. Even their ears were—pointed! These were Elves! A people almost of legend.

She had certainly never encountered any herself. Her father spoke often of Elves that traveled with the rangers at times, scouting with them to hunt Orcs. But she had never been present when the Elves had been along. She relaxed her hold on the quilt somewhat and her eyes again became their normal size—well, at least her right one did, for her left could barely open at all. Her curiosity was piqued by the presence of the Elves and her fear began to lessen.

She licked her lips, trying to speak. Seeing her difficulty, Elrohir lifted a glass of water one of the other Elves had placed on a small bedside table and helped her to drink from it. She winced as the mere action of sipping from the glass reopened the cuts on her lips. She ran her tongue over her teeth to make sure they were still there. When that Orc had tackled her, her face hit the ground so hard, it loosened them. Thankfully, they were still in her gums.

As Elrohir gently guided Jeren back to the pillows, the movement of her neck caused the broken bone to shift and she gasped with the pain of it. It was then that she realized she had pain everywhere. Especially high up on her right shoulder—in front, not in back. And her head—it hurt so badly it made the room spin. Letting her head fall back against the pillows, her face crumpled with the pain and tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes, pooling in her ears.

Elladan took the cloth he had been using, rinsed it, wrung it out, and wiped her tears away. He grabbed a small towel from the pillow where he'd placed it and dabbed it into her ears. He began speaking to her in a soothing voice. "My name is Elladan and my brother is Elrohir. We found you in the yard and brought you inside. We will tend your hurts if you will allow us to."

Jeren wanted to nod her head, but did not dare risk it for fear that she may be sick from the spinning motion it caused. That, and the fear of the horrible pain coming again. Instead she opened her eyes and said thickly, "Thank you. I cannot thank you enough." She paused for a moment, then added, "Are they gone?"

She had no need to explain who 'they' were. 'They' were dead out in the yard, at this very moment being heaved into a pile some distance away and set aflame by the other Elves of the party.

"Yes, be at ease—they are gone," Elladan reassured her. "They were still here when I arrived, but I managed to secret you into the wood. My brother, along with five other warriors and I, ambushed them and dispatched them. They are all gone. They can hurt you no more." He dipped the cloth he had been using to awaken her back into the water, rinsing it again. "Are you alone here, Miss? Should we be searching for other survivors?"

Elrohir gave Elladan a knowing glance as they watched her heave a huge sigh of relief on hearing that the Orcs no longer lived. She quickly opened her eyes, and started to lift herself up to her elbows to see what was causing such an ache in her chest. But the movement sent a spasm of pain from the broken bone through her whole body, making her lie back on the mound of pillows and blankets on which she had been propped. A fresh stream of tears ran down the sides of her face.

Frowning in empathy, Elladan hastened to explain the pain to her. "You have suffered a broken clavicle. The collarbone, it is called commonly. That is what is causing the pain whenever you move. You have a slash on your chest and that is also causing you much discomfort."

The twins could see the girl relax a bit. "Jeren," she whispered. At the Elves' identical expressions of confusion, Jeren found herself trying to smile. She repeated, trying to make herself heard, "My name is Jeren." It was a bit hard to talk as well as be understood, with the numerous lumps, cuts and bruises on her lips and around her mouth. But she could see that they did understand.

Jeren was getting terribly sleepy again. She could barely keep her eyes open, but she did manage to say, "If my mother comes, will you please wake me? I wish not to miss her if she should come back to visit me."

The Elves didn't even have time to answer. Before they could make sense of what she had uttered, she was again unconscious.


	3. Changing One's Heart

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

The next time Jeren awoke it was to soft sounds of people moving about in the room around her. She slowly opened her eyes, the left one still refusing to open but just the smallest bit. Some people were moving about her room, placing things on the bedside table—small stacks of cloths, basins of water and other things she could not see clearly. The day was waning into twilight and the room was very dim. The faint orange glow of sunset was barely coloring the walls. Jeren fought to stay awake.

Her head quaked and she realized her memory was confused. She could not remember why, but she hurt in every part of her body. It was then she realized that she lay naked beneath the quilt. She lifted the cover a bit with her left hand to make sure she wasn't imagining it. She was not. Besides being naked, she had bandages on her body. The one wrapped around her chest must have concealed some terrible injury. The wound it covered hurt more than anything and blood had stained through to its surface.

One of the people—they were all men, she noticed with fear—approached the bed, standing over her. "You are very feverish, Jeren," he began. "We are going to sponge you with cool water, to try and reduce your temperature."

Strange men in her house and they knew her name! She was becoming more frightened. "Who are you?" Jeren asked, barely whispering.

Elladan realized that she didn't remember being awake before, when he had first introduced himself and Elrohir to her. This proved beyond a doubt that she was indeed concussed. "My name is Elladan. Do you remember speaking to me earlier?"

She shook her head, nearly overcome with the dizziness it caused and said, "I spoke to you earlier? When was that? What did I say?"

Elladan sat down on the bed next to her. "It matters not right now. What matters now is reducing your fever."

As Elrohir entered the room and approached the bed, they both watched Jeren's good eye widen. She blinked a few times, as if to clear her sight. "I believe I must have been hit in the head. It aches like fire and I am seeing double."

At Elrohir's look of confusion, Elladan was quick to explain. "She doesn't remember meeting us before." Elrohir nodded his understanding and answered Jeren. "You did indeed receive a blow to the head, but there is nothing wrong with your eyesight. You are seeing twins. If you wish to know how to tell us apart, just remember that I am Elrohir—the handsome one." Elladan shot him an exasperated glance.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to smile at Elrohir's weak jest. It took too much effort to do so. She remembered now—these were the Elves who had rescued her today—it was still today, was it not? She felt someone, she supposed it must be Elladan, sit on the bed next to her, busy doing something. She could sense his movements, but didn't care enough to either open her eye or to guess at what he could be doing.

She was just too tired to stay awake and the least of movements caused her pain so great it took her breath away. Maybe she could close her eyes and sleep, just a little while longer. She was so sleepy. So sleepy…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren woke sometime later, alone in the room. She had no concept of how long she had been sleeping. She did know that she had not dreamed of anything—horrible or wonderful. She had just slept. She didn't, however, feel refreshed. Quite the contrary.

She felt even worse than she had before, if that were possible. Every bone and muscle in her body—even her skin, it seemed—ached and throbbed. She was hot and cold—both sensations at the same time.

She remembered feeling this way before, when she was sick. Her mother would tend to her, cooling her hot, fevered skin with cool cloths she'd soaked in an herbal tea to reduce her fever. At the thought of her mother, and wishing she was still here, Jeren felt tears sting her eyes. She felt so alone. She was terribly tired of weeping and wished her tears to stay in her eyes where they belonged. Her wish was not granted and she began crying softly.

She began by barely making any sound at all, but before long she was sobbing uncontrollably. There was a soft knock at the door, which she did not hear. She was in another place—at another time. She was again lying on her back in the dirt of the yard. She was fighting for her life and losing. She was scared and tired and despairing. There were foul beasts all around her, hurting her and frightening her. Their jeers and cackling laughter filled her mind, rendering her speechless and mindless with fear.

She wanted to fight them, but she was too tired—too hurt. They grabbed her hands and her arms; they were touching her face and hair. All she could think of was escaping the horror of it all. The evil face looming over her. The slime-coated tongue in her mouth. Her most private spaces being filled with horrors unimaginable.

Suddenly she was screaming. Her voice was high-pitched and keening. So loud. She was screaming so loudly.

As if returning from within a fog, she regained her senses slowly. The first thing she became aware of was that her throat was throbbing with the strain of screaming, which was the second thing she became aware of—she was screaming at the top of her lungs, slowly emerging from what had been the nightmarish, to what was now a nothingness.

Her eyesight slowly focused. The Orcs were no longer there. Beside her, sitting on the bed facing her was one of the Elves who had been helping her before. He was holding her arms just above her wrists, holding them against his chest. His mirror image was on her other side, running his fingers over her face and hair, speaking to her in the strange language of the Elves. She thought of the irony of it. The most horrible visages imaginable had been replaced with the most beautiful.

All of a sudden, as if by magic, she felt a wave of warmth wash over her. The Elf holding her arms slowly loosened his grip on her, easing her back against the pillows from which she'd risen during her waking nightmare. The other one rose from the bed, helping his brother to ease her back to the pillows where he knew she would be more comfortable. Both wore like expressions of compassion and caring. Leaning her head the rest of the way into the pillows, she closed her eyes, more tears sneaking from beneath her matted lashes.

Elladan quietly grasped her hands in his. She could hear him whispering something, almost a chant or a prayer of some sort. Again she could feel the warmth of peace engulf her entire being. Elrohir resumed his place on the other side of her, joined his hands with those of his brother, and echoed the poetry of his brother's whispers, which were calming her as nothing ever had. The sense of peace increased ten fold. A tiny part of her mind wondered at this phenomenon, but the greater part of her did not care the how or why of it, only that it was. And it was such blessed relief. Such blessed relief. Such relief...

Jeren again slipped into a dreamless sleep, enfolded securely in the serenity wrought by the Elves.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She felt as if she had just closed her eyes when she awoke again. It was very dark outside, so it must be nighttime. One of the twins was sponging her. It felt good, but bad at the same time. She was feverish, she could tell, for her skin burned but she was freezing. And this Elf sitting on the bed sponging her with cold water wasn't helping to warm her any. A sudden flash of thought hit her, stunning her. _She was almost completely naked, and this male Elf was sitting here sponging her off! _

She grabbed for the edge of the quilt, to cover her nakedness. In the process, however, the excessive movement again sent her broken bone to grinding upon itself, causing waves of pain so intense she thought she just might retch.

"What do you think you are doing? Which one are you—what is your name? I cannot tell the difference between you!" She tried to sound indignant, but her voice emerged quiet and weak. The Elf stopped sponging her and said, "I am Elladan, and I am attempting to lower your fever, Jeren. That is all. Now go back to sleep."

The feeling of helplessness at the situation in which she found herself, was frustrating. She couldn't think straight, the room was apt to tilt when she least expected it, and here was this Elf ordering her around. She tried to muster up enough will to slap his hands away, but found that her arms still felt as if they were weighted.

She didn't know why, but she suddenly didn't care anymore. She didn't care that they would touch her. She didn't care that she lay here naked with a male touching her almost indecently. She was numb. She had no fight left in her.

She felt another presence joining her on the bed. She supposed it must be Elrohir; it seemed as if one twin did nothing without the other. She heard a glass clink against the rim of a pitcher, and the pitcher being set back down upon the bedside table.

Elrohir said, "You must excuse my brother here for being such an insensitive oaf. Our father often accuses him of obtuseness." Gently holding the glass to her lips, he continued, "Here, Jeren, you must drink. It will help with the fever you have so inconveniently decided to acquire."

She opened her good eye and looked at him, barely shaking her head in the negative.

"Maybe you took that as a request, Young Lady," Elrohir stated. "It was not." He reached behind her neck, pulling her slightly forward to enable her better access to the glass. She did not cooperate, refusing to open her mouth.

"You obviously have no knowledge of Elves, Jeren," he said seriously, narrowing his eyes. "You have no idea what we are capable of when our anger is stirred." Her eyes widened somewhat, but Elrohir's mistruth had the desired effect. She opened her mouth and took several sips. It seemed that once she allowed the water into her parched throat, she could not get enough. She hadn't even realized that she was thirsty.

After her throat was soothed by the coolness of the water, she lay back on the pillows. She could not shake the numb feeling in her mind. In a way, she was glad about that. Feeling nothing was immensely better than feeling the terror and horror and embarrassment that had become her unwelcome companions today. Her world had drastically reduced itself to include only her sluggish mind and this broken body, burning with fever and aching beneath her mother's quilt.

With the darkness growing, candles and oil lamps were lit and placed on various surfaces around the room. She frowned, not remembering that this house even possessed so many various forms of light. She stared at the flame of one lamp, sitting upon the table alongside the bed. She had never bothered to examine flame closely before. The various colors were amazing. There was blue just above the wick, at the very core of the flame. That gave way gradually to violet which then merged into orange, followed by yellow at the very top. Fire. It was indeed a wonder she had never pondered before. Interesting.

She hadn't noticed that she was alone on the bed, so she was quickly brought back to reality when one of the Elves sat down next to her, startling her. She jumped, jarring her injuries. A weak gasp escaped her lips. The Elf who had blundered upon the bed had the courtesy to look remorseful.

"Please, tell me a way to identify you from your brother, whoever you are," she said sadly.

Elladan cocked his head and smiled in empathy as he picked the cloth out of the basin to continue bathing her arms. "I am Elladan. If you take careful notice, I am the one who does not look simple minded." She must feel very badly; she didn't even smile at the absurdity of his answer. He then replied to her question with the seriousness it deserved. "I wish I could answer that question, Jeren, but I truly do not know what to tell you. Many have told us that we are indistinguishable. Our family and friends have no trouble, so I suppose it merely takes time and familiarity to do so. I'll tell you what I will do— "

He took a small handful of his long straight hair from beside his face nearest her, and a strip leather from a pocket in his tunic. With a quick deftness Jeren could hardly believe, he braided his hair and the leather strip together, leaving several inches of the leather trailing loosely amid the rest of his free flowing hair. "Now, all you need do is see which of us has his hair tied this way, and you will be able to identify us. How will this be?"

Jeren took a tired breath and answered weakly, "That will be very good. Thank you for thinking of it."

"I wish I had done so earlier, sweetling," he answered. She smiled as she looked at him, acknowledging his endearment. He smiled back at her.

Elrohir came in then, with another basin of water and seated himself on the other side of Jeren. The twins glanced at one another, seeming to silently communicate. Jeren wondered at this. The look of concentration on their faces showed that they were not merely gazing into the other's eyes just to just to study each other's expressions. After only seconds, they both turned their faces back to her and Elladan took her hands in his. Elrohir placed the basin on the table and then joined his brother's hands in holding hers—just as before. They began their chanting poetry.

She did not know what they called this particular medicine, but she was certainly glad they had the ability to make use of it. It calmed her tortured spirit. She had been sleepy before, but she could now feel the warm coziness of the bed, inviting her to close her eyes and slip into sleep.

As soon as they were sure she was asleep, the twins ceased their spiritual treatment of her, lowering her hands and releasing each other's.

"I knew she was barely awake and we would be able to ease her into sleep," Elladan said. "What little ability we have in this area has certainly been welcome in this situation, would you not agree, Elrohir?"

Elrohir began to help Elladan with sponging Jeren, to reduce her temperature. As they washed her fevered limbs, Elrohir frowned and said, "I look simple minded, do I, Brother? May I remind you that we are identical?"

Elladan smiled. He could always count on Elrohir to remember everything—at least when it was convenient for him to do so.


	4. A Stitch in Time

A Stitch in Time

Jeren came slowly awake as the dawn lightened. Not even fully aware, she felt tears on her cheeks. She could not remember dreaming and she was glad of that. If her dreams had been so bad that they made her cry, she had no wish for memory of them. Real life was fraught enough with the nightmarish; she really did not need to relive it in her dreams.

She was growing awfully tired of sitting almost completely upright in her bed. How she longed to snuggle down under her mother's quilt, but she didn't dare to move. Several times when she had made even the slightest movement, it sent shivers of pain throughout her entire body. She would never again take for granted something as simple as a good night's sleep, lying prone in a bed.

She knew not how the Elves could have possibly known she was awake. She had barely made any noise at all, so she figured that, coincidentally, one of them had come in to check on her. She did not know which one—he was too far away to see his hair. And the sun was barely making its presence known outside. What little light that filtered into the room from the window did little to lift the darkness. She watched as her visitor slipped in the door, closing it softly behind him. She noticed that he made no sound as he walked toward the bed.

"What are your boots made of, that they make no noise against the floor as you walk?" she asked.

"They are made of soft leather, but that is not why I walk silently," Elladan answered. "Elves have very light footsteps—we make no noise as we tread. We Elves have many hidden talents—we are mysterious indeed."

Jeren smiled the crooked smile she couldn't help making with the swelling and cuts around her mouth. She asked him, her voice still weak, "Will you tell me some of your secrets?" The leather strip braided into this Elf's hair identified him as Elladan.

"Oh I could not do that, my lady," he replied quickly. "Then all my mystery would be revealed."

Elladan walked—silently—toward her, sitting down on the bed beside her. He reached for her face, wishing to discover if her fever was down. She shrunk back into the pillows. He should have expected this reaction. He belatedly asked her, "Do you mind if I check for fever? You look to be flushed and I suspect your temperature may still be elevated." He hadn't meant to startle her. She had been through enough already.

She started to shake her head in the negative, but thought better of it. "No, I do not mind."

He gently felt of her brow with the backs of his long fingers and then frowned. "Still feverish, but not as bad as before, I think." He rose from the bed and paced a few steps to a chest of drawers against one wall. He noticed there was no dust adorning its surface. Quite the little housekeeper, this girl.

It was time to begin the arduous task of convincing the overly modest girl in the bed to allow him and Elrohir to see to her needs. He had to resume treating her injuries. She didn't have the luxury of time on her side. He did not know what was causing her fever now. It seemed too early for her injuries to have become infected. But Orcs by their very nature were hotbeds of disease and vermin. They may have been carrying any number of diseases and the close contact she'd had with them was the most likely answer to her sickness now.

Since she had begun waking more regularly, she was becoming more and more difficult about allowing them access to her person. She needed help seeing to the most basic of her needs and the gashes and broken bone needed tending as soon as possible; they should have been tended to before now, truly. However, she had been much too feverish and distraught last night to attempt any healing at all. He had to convince her that he was a healer first and a male second. Since she was a very young Human girl, this task was sure to prove daunting at best, impossible at worst. Yet he had to try. _Eru, give me strength._

He began in a quiet voice, trying to emphasize the importance of her cooperation. "Jeren, I know this will be hard for you, but either I or Elrohir, or both of us if you would be comfortable with that, must tend to your injuries." He turned around to face her. His gaze was sympathetic to her fears, but also held a determination that he would have his way, one way or another. He allowed her time to digest this statement before he continued. "I understand your trepidation, and I sympathize with your feelings, but my brother and I are trained healers. We will do nothing unnecessary in our treatment of you, nor will we give you any cause for embarrassment." He again began walking through the room, pausing to look at a rocking chair in the corner, admiring its fine craftsmanship, trying to seem as at ease as possible.

He made his way to the bed and sat down next to her. "Elves are extremely respectful of the bodies of all peoples. Physical bodies of each race are deemed beautiful by Elves—with the possible exception being the bodies of most Dwarves." He stopped, smiling, and was relieved when her lips turned up in a ghost of a smile. She appeared stronger today. That was very good.

"When I look upon you as I tend your injuries, I will only see you as a healer should, needing to mend that which has been set awry. I promise you I will not cause you undue embarrassment."

Jeren tore her gaze away from him, uncertain of exactly what to say. Without meeting his eyes, she said sarcastically, "Knowing this does not help." Continuing, almost in a panic, she said, "I cannot let you do this. The situation embarrasses me and I do not wish to be touched again, by you or anyone."

Trying to keep his growing frustration in check, Elladan tried another approach. "You have a serious wound to the chest that must be better cleaned, as well as stitched and poulticed. Also, I wish not to alarm you, but when I washed you, I examined you somewhat. When the Orcs—brutalized—you, they inflicted damage on you. You are very young and inexperienced. That along with their viciousness resulted in an injury and it must be tended. That is all there is to it. You do not wish for infection in that part of you, I think."

Her face flaming at his directness, she said, "Please—just—go." She emphasized each word to ensure her meaning was clear. "Just leave my house. I need neither your pity nor your healing. I need nothing from you. I thank you sincerely for rescuing me and helping me thus far. But now I am ready for you to leave me."

Elladan would have laughed if the situation weren't so sad. Here she was, beaten and broken. She could barely talk through the bumps and cuts around her mouth, yet she was protesting in a most vigorous way. She could barely be understood, but the only thing on her mind was embarrassment.

"Jeren," he started in protest, "I cannot stand by and do nothing for you. Only a few simple things need doing to keep you from becoming more ill and dying. For that is what would happen. Orcs, as you no doubt have found out, are extremely dirty creatures. Your untended wounds invite infection. The break in your bone will lower your body's ability to heal. I _will _leave before I watch you slowly die." A bit softer, he said, "Besides, I think you would not wish to be alone. Would you not be afraid to be here on your own, given what occurred yesterday?"

Jeren hoped the terror of being left alone did not show on her face. As strongly as she could possibly talk, she said, "If my wounds are so severe as to kill me then so be it. I wish to die with my dignity intact." She sniffed; her tears had again started falling from her eyes. _Valar, would these tears ever cease? She had cried more in the past day than she had previously in her entire life._

Jeren felt like screaming at him, but she hadn't the will or the strength to do so. Instead she could barely be heard, "Just go." Her words were shaky and quiet, filled now with despair instead of the steel of before.

Elrohir had entered the room silently and stood behind his brother who was still seated on the bed. Elladan, having been so intent in getting through to Jeren, had not realized his brother was there. Elrohir nudged his twin aside, taking Elladan's seat on the bed beside Jeren. Frowning, Elladan got up, a bit put off by his brother's lack of grace.

"You seem to have a fine bedside manner, Brother," Elrohir said sarcastically, one eyebrow arched. "I sensed your frustration and decided you had made the use of my charm necessary." As well as identical looks, the twins possessed an uncanny ability to sense the other's thoughts and feelings. Elladan sometimes cursed this particular gift. He didn't even reply to his brother. He silently left the room, hoping Elrohir could talk some sense into the injured girl.

Elrohir did nothing. He just sat there beside her. She would not look at him or acknowledge him in any way.

After several minutes of silence, she whispered, "I wish not to be touched any more." As her fear and terror resurfaced with the thoughts of her ordeal, the tone of her voice increased, starting as a whisper and ending in almost a shout. "Let me sicken and die, I have not the will to live. All I see when I close my eyes is their hideous faces. All I can remember is their revolting stench and how badly it hurt and how afraid I was and—"

Elrohir gave her no more time to elaborate. She was close to making herself hysterical again. He grabbed both of her hands in his, trying to lend her some of his strength. He wished to enfold her into his arms, she looked so young and forlorn, but he knew that wasn't an option. He would cause her too much pain in the process.

"Look at me, Jeren." When she made no response and continued her diatribe, he said with more volume and sternness, "Look at me!"

She fell silent, but did not look at him. Instead she closed her eyes and began sobbing.

"Go ahead and weep, Jeren," Elrohir said in a scolding tone. "But weeping will gain you nothing."

_So much for a pleasant bedside manner. _If Elladan's kindness could not get through to her, then perhaps there was need for a bit more sternness. She was, after all, a child, and perhaps this approach would shock her from reliving the horror of yesterday, back to the reality of today.

He had sensed before that she was very proud and would not appreciate being treated as a child. As he had hoped, his reproval was having the effect he wanted. She stopped crying, but she would still not meet his gaze. Not relinquishing her hands, even though she was making weak attempts to pull them from his grasp, he continued with a tone a little gentler and a little less reproaching. "I thought I had sensed in you a person who would have backbone when things got rough, for things certainly got more than rough here yesterday, and you have thus far survived. I would think that you would cooperate with us, let us help you even at the expense of your pride, but perhaps I have been wrong about you."

He was getting through to her now. The look she gave him would have felled a troll. "You have no notion of me or my character," she replied quietly, venom spewing from her eyes. "You do not know me. I do not give up nor do I give in. Nothing about me is weak." She continued to look him directly in the eyes. She did not expect, however, the effect staring at an Elf would have on her. It seemed as if he could look into her mind and search her soul. She tore her gaze from his.

"Then cease acting as a child, and let us get on with the business of your healing," Elrohir retorted with harshness he did not feel. He detested treating her so roughly, but her hating him was not the issue. She needed tending to, whether she wanted it or not.

"By all means then, let us waste no more time," she retorted.

He winked at her and that maddened her more than she had been before_. Let him play his games_. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she needed the help these Elves were offering her. She may as well take advantage of their knowledge of healing. The sooner they started, the sooner they would finish. And the sooner they would finish, the sooner they would leave—which at this point, did not seem soon enough! Inwardly she was screaming to just be left alone. _Why did everyone have to have their hands on her?_

Elrohir rose from the bed and left the room, but was back within half a minute, hands laden with more cloths and bandages. Jeren watched the process unfold before her. Elrohir was followed in by Celduin, an Elf unknown to her, who was balancing a bowl filled with water in one hand and several smaller articles in the other. On Celduin's way out, Elrohir grabbed his arm, stopping him to whisper something into his ear. He nodded and again left the room.

As Celduin reentered a few minutes later, a flask of some liquid in hand, Elrohir turned to Jeren and introduced the warrior to her. "This is Celduin. He is among our number and also helped in your rescue." She made no response other than to glare at them both. Elrohir continued, "Have you no courtesy, that you would not thank him for the risk of his life for you?"

Celduin wanted to sink into the floor. _Why was Elrohir baiting this unfortunate girl in this way?_

The shock and hurt registered plainly on Jeren's face. Her lips trembled as she said, "I give you my thanks, Master Celduin." Her voice was tremulous with unshed tears. Elrohir was beginning to hate himself for his mistreatment of her, but his strategy was working. She was going to allow them access to her person. That was indeed progress. It also seemed as if her mind was being led away from reliving the horror she had endured and that was something she was perilously close to doing again just a few minutes ago.

Elladan entered the room and closed the door behind him, first allowing Celduin to beat a hasty exit. Looking perplexed he commented, "Celduin seems somewhat nonplused. What did you do to him, Elrohir?"

"I did nothing to him," Elrohir said, offended. "Why must you think ill of me before you take the time to consider I may be innocent?"

Elladan gave a short laugh. "You? Innocent? The concept never occurred to me."

Giving his brother a glowering stare, Elrohir said, "Come. Let us get started."

Elrohir looked at Jeren, wondering if she would even allow him near her at all. She continued to glare at him, looking as if she just may attack him if he came any closer. He decided that that idea wasn't within the realm of possibility with the injuries she was suffering, but he approached her with caution anyway.

Silently, Elladan uncorked the flask that Celduin had provided and poured a generous portion of the contents into a glass. Without a word, he offered it to Jeren. She nodded and braced herself. She knew she would have to be helped to drink and movement was almost unbearable. As carefully as he could, Elladan placed his hand in the nape of her neck, pulling slightly forward to allow her to drink. She took a tentative sip and turned her face away.

"No, Jeren, you must drink more. This will help you relax and ease your pain somewhat." Elladan prayed that she would accept more. He dreaded the thought of Elrohir stitching on her without some aid in killing the agony it would bring.

Trying to be brave and look a little less fearful—and succeeding at neither—Jeren dutifully took another sip. When Elladan continued to nudge the glass to her lips, she drank as deeply as she could. After it seemed as if she had taken in a gallon of whatever the liquid was within the glass, Elladan eased his insistence with the drink, settling her head back against the pillows.

He set the glass upon the table and leaned over her, a hand on each side of her body. Her shrinking back into the pillows was not lost on him. He eased away and sat on the bed again. Taking a deep breath he said, "There is no easy way to say this, so I shall speak plainly to you. Both cleaning the wound on your chest and stitching it will be very painful. And we still must stitch the cut near your eye. The more of this that you drink, the better, to dull the pain." He hoped that if she did not drink enough of the Miruvor, then the sewing might render her unconscious with the pain of it.

She began to tremble in reaction to his words. Not exactly what Elladan had in mind when he'd said them. In fact, she trembled so much it concerned him. How could Elrohir set stitches if she shook so hard that he may misplace them? It would only increase her pain. He let out his breath, relaxing. He knew that his tenseness would only feed hers. He decided to wait until the Miruvor would have a chance to dull her senses and relax her some. A little light conversation may also help in that.

"Jeren, how old are you?" Elladan began.

"Sixteen," was her one word reply.

Elladan's eyebrows drew upward. "I would have thought you older." In truth, he would have thought her very much younger, but he knew the wisdom in trying to regain her favor. She surprised him when she asked the same of him.

"How old are you, Elladan? You look to be about thirty. Am I even close in guessing your age?"

Elladan tried not to laugh. He was extremely grateful that she was allowing herself to be distracted from what she faced. But his age was so far beyond thirty that it was ludicrous.

Elrohir did bark out a laugh. When Jeren turned her eyes up to glare at him again, he said, "Elladan—my brother—tell the young lady your age!"

"I had planned to, Elrohir!" he shot over his shoulder at his twin. Turning back once again to the girl in the bed, he said, "I am two thousand thirty-one, give or take a century." He watched as her face took on a frown of disbelief.

"Why would you tell me such a thing? I may be younger than you are, but I am definitely not stupid." Her indignation brought another smile to Elladan's face.

"I would never think that of you," Elladan said, finally able to keep from laughing. "I am not jesting with you, Jeren. I am indeed over two thousand years old. You have acted as if you know nothing of Elves and now I am sure of it! However, ignorance and stupidity are two very different things. Ignorance can be enlightened, but stupidity is to be scorned. I know you are definitely not stupid."

Elrohir joined in with an explanation about the mystery of Elven immortality. "Elves are immortal, Jeren. After we have left childhood, we age so slowly as to seem not to age at all. And we do not die natural deaths. Of course, many of our people do die, but only if they are slain; and in some rare instances, they can die from inconsolable grief. Elladan tells you the truth. We are over two thousand years old."

Deciding that a change of topic was called for, Elladan said, "You mentioned before that your father is out on duty. What duty does he have that takes him away from his home and daughter, if you don't mind the question?" Elladan looked at her expectantly, hoping he would be able to ease her trembling with talk of someone she obviously held dear.

"He is a ranger," was her proud reply. "He mostly scouts an area in the northern portion of the Angle, from the river Mitheithel to the River Bruinen, just east and west of both—and a bit north of the Great East Road.

At this revelation, Elrohir joined in the questioning. "What is your father's name, Jeren?"

She blinked her eyes at him, astonished at his audacity to question her after his treatment of her. Looking at Elladan, she replied, "His name is Anardil."

The twins exchanged surprised glances. They had scouted with Anardil on a number of occasions. They both knew him well. That Jeren was his daughter now became apparent. They could see his face in hers. Her manner was also reminiscent of his. It also explained why her age seemed so much younger than sixteen. Anardil was Dunadain. Their ancestral ties to Numenor enhanced the length of their lives. No wonder she looked to be so young.

Smiling, Elrohir exclaimed, "We know Anardil. We have been out on patrol with him many times."

Jeren's face lit up, as much as it could with a hugely swollen black eye and bruises adorning it.

"You know him? Do you know of him now? Is he alive? He has not been home in over three months and I have grown worried for his safety."

Elladan looked at her solemnly. Shaking his head he said, "We have not seen him lately." Seeing her countenance fall, he added quickly, "But do not lose hope. I believe him to be fine. Imladris, where we have our home, is near the area you described and he has been there before. If trouble has found him, he would go there and receive sanctuary. The valley is quite safe."

Her relief was evident, as was her growing dullness. It seemed that the Miruvor was taking the desired effect at last. It was also apparent that her remaining mistrust of them was waning considerably. They knew her father and he trusted them. She was much more at ease with them now, knowing this information.

While Miruvor was generally used as a tonic—its healing and refreshing qualities were unique and rare—enough of it would render a Human drunk—as with too much wine. The twins had few remedies with them, and what they did have, they were uncertain what quantities would be safe in a Human—at least one of this small stature.

Taking a deep breath, Jeren said, "I think it is time to begin. If I have a choice in the matter, I would prefer you start with the sewing of the big cut—it will hurt worse. I would rather get that over with first." Her words were beginning to slur, so 'first' came out 'fursht'.

Elladan gave her a rueful half smile. The slur of her words indicated that she was right. "Yes, it is high time. A wise decision you have made, I think.

After a brief tug of war with her over the quilt, Elladan lowered the cover from her, exposing her bandaged chest. She blushed a deep red and averted her eyes. Using his knife, he slit the makeshift bandage they had fashioned to hold the cut closed the night before and pulled it gently away from her body. He began rinsing the injury with the herbal tea they had made, to cleanse the wound as much as possible. She gasped at the sudden coldness, but made no other sound or protest. Her father would expect her not to flinch. _She would make him proud, no matter what Elrohir may think of her._

Elladan recollected a question that had puzzled him. "Jeren, do you remember how you received this wound? It is very severe and was obviously made with a large weapon, with great force." He hoped he hadn't erred when he asked her to recall this portion of her ordeal.

Trying to ignore the embarrassment of her body being exposed to the Elves, she replied, "It was no weapon at all, unless you could name a horse's hoof a weapon. When the—you know—when they shot Jones, she went down. I had a pitchfork from the barn I wanted to use as a weapon against—them—but when she fell, it got stuck beneath her. I didn't use my head—my father would be angry with me were he here—and without thinking, I bent to retrieve it. It was then that her hoof hit me really hard. It knocked me down. I didn't even realize I had been injured by her until I woke up here in my bed."

Elladan looked up from his rinsing of her wound. "I am sure your father would be anything but disappointed in your conduct yesterday. You obviously kept your head and fought very bravely. He would have nothing to be angry with you about."

"I shall not argue the point with you," she replied, "but I know my father and he would not let this mistake go without reprimand." Elladan shook his head slightly. He knew Anardil to be a man of little conversation, but he had never seemed cruel. Perhaps Jeren held her father in such great esteem that disappointing him even the least bit was punishable by death in her mind.

During their short conversation, Elrohir had been assembling what he would need to stitch the wound. He never used thread, as did the Human healers. His father had taught him that as long as a strand of his hair was clean and was dipped in the herbal solution with which they bathed wounds, it made fine sutures. The fineness of Elven hair, as well as its strength, would allow for closer, smaller stitches, thereby leaving a fainter scar. He plucked a long strand from Elladan's head, prompting a yelp from his brother.

"Why must you do that, Elrohir? You have hair as well as I do, you know."

"I know, Brother," Elrohir crooned, "but it isn't nearly as painful when I use yours."

Jeren couldn't help herself—she laughed at their antics. She supposed her mirth was caused by whatever the foul drink had been—she thought she might even be drunk, of all things.

Shaking his head, Elladan resumed his task. Elrohir nudged at his twin's shoulder a few moments later, indicating that he was ready. Elladan got up and made his way to the other side of the bed, sitting beside Jeren.

"This will hurt me much more than it will hurt you, Young Lady," Elrohir said, smiling.

"Somehow, I doubt that," was Jeren's petulant reply.

He didn't fail to notice that she made a particular point of not looking at him. Elrohir wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or anger that kept her gaze from his. He hoped that Jeren would find it in her heart to forgive him his ill treatment of her. He really hadn't meant to hurt her. He had only wished to prod her toward lowering her defenses, and he supposed that his success was probably worth her anger at him.

Taking Elladan's place on the bed beside Jeren, Elrohir put a knot in the end of his erstwhile thread. He took a deep breath and said, "Ready?" Jeren nodded and swallowed. "Ready."

Elrohir bent his head to his task. He made a few false starts toward the gash, trying to decide the best place to start. The wound gaped badly now that it was unbound. The weight of her breast caused the gash to hang open widely. The twins exchanged a look, and Elladan turned to their patient saying, "Jeren, I need to place my hands on you, to hold the injury closed while my brother sews."

"No!" she was quick to respond. "I will do it." She was mortified at this whole situation, but being handled by a grown man—Elf—was unthinkable to her young mind. She did not even get her hand raised when the pain of her broken bone stilled her.

"By the Valar, this is all so unfair!" she wailed, her speech becoming more slurred with each passing minute. She laid her head back upon the pillow, closing her eyes, tears weeping from them and making trails down the sides of her face. Finally, she raised her head and nodded, ready for the indignity of it all. How she wished she could just crawl under the quilt and disappear. She was so preoccupied with her embarrassment that she forgot how painful it would be to endure the stitching.

Trying to ease her self-consciousness, Elladan covered her breast with a corner of the quilt. He covered her enough to preserve as much of her dignity as he could, while also leaving Elrohir enough room to work. In that way, there was cloth between his hand and her body. He pushed her breast up and inward toward her sternum, effectively closing the gaping wound.

The brothers began conversing in Elvish, Jeren supposed, for it was the same language she had awoken to yesterday. She could guess what they were talking about. They were pointing and gesturing at her chest with their fingers. She hoped they were speaking about the wound and not the smallness of her breasts. _Valar, this was so embarrassing, and these two were not making things any easier. _

Being no longer able to endure their observations in a foreign language, she asked in a sarcastic tone, "If you wouldn't mind, could you speak so that I could understand? It is my body you are discussing after all." She hiccupped.

Without moving his head, Elrohir looked up at her and smiled. "Of course, my lady. We were merely discussing the best place to begin. Would you like to express _your_ opinion?" His tone had taken on the same sarcastic lilt as Jeren's had. He immediately felt contrite when she looked away. He'd done it again.

"I am sorry, Jeren," he said in apology. "I had no call to speak to you thusly. I may not be as obtuse as my brother, but I do surpass him in sarcasm at times." Elladan gave him a sideways glare.

Elrohir readied himself to start the stitching, beginning at the injury's topmost end, as Elladan suggested would be the better starting point. He placed the needle and pierced the skin. Jeren tensed but uttered no sound. He continued, completing the first stitch. He had made three stitches when one of her tears fell on his hand. She had begun to tremble again with the pain. _Why did she not just swoon and be done with it?_

The only other option would be to bash her upside the head, rendering her unconscious again, but that was decidedly out of the question. He had no choice but to continue. Her tears increased, yet she made no sound—not even a sniffle.

Unfortunately, her trembling also increased. As a person holding a great weight trembles with the exertion of it, so was Jeren trembling in just such a way—and Elrohir was not even one fourth of the way finished. After three more stitches, she sobbed quietly. Elrohir had not the heart to continue.

"I think it is time for a short rest," he said, sympathy dripping from his voice. Elladan did not relinquish his hold on her breast; he did not wish to allow the tension to pull at the completed stitches. Jeren laid her head back upon the pillows and closed her eyes. She was far past embarrassment at the moment, and in truth, the support of Elladan's hand felt good. The constant pressure of her breast pulling on the wound had been painful itself.

Elrohir took a cloth and soaked it in the bowl of water at his side. He bathed Jeren's face, a look of concern dominating his expression. "How are you doing, Jeren?" he asked quietly.

She did not wish to speak at all—especially not to Elrohir. She feared that if she did, and eased the control she was trying so hard to keep, she would weep uncontrollably. She was determined not to let Elrohir think her weak. She clamped her eyes shut, grimacing at the pain it caused in her left eye. She swallowed hard. In a weak and trembling voice she replied, "I am all right. Continue when you will."

He stole a glance at Elladan, who returned his gaze. Without speaking they both sensed the other's amazement that the girl was still conscious. They each also knew, without voicing it, that she was too alert and apprehensive for their spiritual treatment to work its magic and they had no herbs with them that would render her unconscious.

Elladan broke the silence. "Brother, think you we should give her more of the Miruvor? She needs more for the pain. It may put her to sleep as well." At Elrohir's skeptical look, Elladan added, "It will not hurt to try."

In Elvish, risking Jeren's sarcasm, Elrohir replied, "It may do so, Elladan, but think of her discomfort when it wears off. You know how our drink affects Humans when they drink too much of it."

Answering in like language, Elladan said, "Yes, Brother, but even a severe headache and queasy stomach would be better than this agonizing pain, do you not think so?"

"It would be better if she would just faint, but it looks as if that will not happen," Elrohir said in frustration.

Jeren had been listening just enough to know they were discussing her again in a language she did not understand. She opened her eyes and lifted her head. "Please, could you just get on with it? I do not know what your are saying, and since you will not grant me the courtesy of speaking in my language, I just wish for you to continue so you can both_ leave—me—alone_!" Both Elves noticed right away that her voice, while still quiet, was stronger, though her words were slurred noticeably. The time resting had helped, even if only temporarily.

Ignoring her, Elrohir said, again in Elvish, "I have a plan." At Elladan's dubious expression, he continued. "If I stitch quickly, perhaps it will overwhelm her and she will swoon. Then we will not have to give her more of the Miruvor."

Switching to Westron, Elladan answered, "It is a plan, Brother. Whether it is a good one or not remains to be seen."

Giving them both a confused glare, Jeren said, "Please just do it! Being here in bed with my breast in a male's hand is not how I wish to spend my time!"

Both Elves looked at each other, trying to stifle the laughter that would inevitably follow a comment of that hilarity. Speaking in Elvish once again, Elrohir said—barely containing his laughter, "I just might have to remind her she made that remark, sometime in the future!"

Jeren just glared at them both and said, "Elves!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	5. Journey Through the Pain

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

In praise of Elrohir's plan, stitching at a quickened pace did indeed render Jeren unconscious at last. As soon as he knew she was out cold, he slowed down a bit, taking the care in stitching that had earned him the right to be compared with his father, as far as stitching was concerned. At least this was one thing he was better at than his brother, and he never missed an opportunity to tell him so.

The brothers cleaned her up thoroughly, reapplying poultices and dressings as needed. Elrohir stitched the deep cut at the corner of her left eye. It wasn't large—maybe an inch long at the most—but it was deep. Even his superior stitching ability would not keep a scar from forming there permanently. Trying to assuage his guilt for not being so good at stitching that she would not have a mark at all, he thought that a small scar might just lend mystery to her appearance. He knew, though, that were his father doing it, she would hardly be able to tell she had ever had the injury.

They then tackled the broken clavicle. As they felt for the break, they realized it was not completely broken—it was merely badly cracked. But it would have to stay immobile, or that could change at any minute. They tore a bed sheet into several long strips and fashioned somewhat of a clumsy bandage—winding it tightly enough around her that it would at least keep her shoulders as immobile as possible. They had wanted to bandage her in a harness-like contraption that would keep her shoulders pulled back and held more rigidly. However, the gash they had just stitched and bandaged on her chest would not be able to take the pressure such a harness would cause, and the pull on the stitches would make it very painful as well.

Much to their happiness, Jeren did not wake up for the rest of the day. They were not concerned for her. She had imbibed in quite a bit of Miruvor—hopefully, not enough to make her stomach feel queasy. She had been through a lot in a short span of time; so needing much sleep was to be expected. Besides, she could give them no trouble when they wished to reapply poultices and change her bandages. She could be most trying with her stubborn pride and prudish sense of modesty. When they would tend to her needs, she would rouse slightly, tell them to go away and promptly fall back into a Miruvor induced stupor_. _

_Thank the Valar for Miruvor._

After sleeping most of the day, Jeren started to awaken when the sun was hanging low in the western sky. She could not see the pink and mauve of the sunset, but she could imagine it by looking at the muted orange glow, which seemed to come from within the walls of her room.

She noticed immediately that she was not alone.

One of the Elves sat slumped in the rocking chair in the corner, eyes closed as if asleep, slowly rocking to no particular rhythm. It was neither Elladan nor Elrohir, and it looked to not be the Elf, Celduin, she had met earlier in the day. Jeren remembered Elladan mentioning there were others in their scouting party. She supposed this Elf must be one of them.

As her world came into sharper focus, she almost wished it hadn't. She had a blinding headache, and felt as if she would lose whatever was in her stomach. _Was she not miserable enough without being sick as well?_

She closed her eyes, fighting the nausea. She supposed if she retched, the Elf who was babysitting her would hear the commotion, but he wouldn't be quick enough to save her mother's quilt from being soiled. Thinking about this scenario wasn't helping her stomach any, so she tried to just breathe deeply and hope it would pass. She noticed she was hardly in a position to help herself. She seemed to be trussed up like a Yule pheasant. She was bandaged tightly around her shoulders and upper arms, effectively keeping movement to a bare minimum. Oh, the misery that was her life at the present.

As if in answer to her prayers, Elladan entered the room. He went over to the rocking chair, and kicked one of the boots of the Elf sitting there. The Elf didn't startle, as Jeren would have expected. He just sat up and opened his eyes, saying, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Galion, when I said to keep an eye on her, I didn't mean that you should be sitting here dreaming while doing it," Elladan said.

"I wasn't dreaming, Elladan," Galion answered. "I was fully conscious. She is just fine lying there— "

"—Watching_ you_ sitting here dreaming!" Elladan finished for him. They both turned toward the bed. Jeren raised her hand just the smallest bit and gave a weak wave to them both. They were talking that Elvish language again, and she still did not understand a word of it. It was most perturbing when others were having a conversation about you and you were not included in it.

"What is it with Elves and their penchant for speaking about others as if they aren't present?" she asked, miffed. She still wasn't sure her stomach was going to keep still, so she didn't appreciate them yammering over in the corner about things that didn't matter. After a few minutes more, she was sure she was going to be sick. "Elladan, my stomach is heaving—I need some help over here." She was speaking through her clenched teeth, hoping to keep what was on her mind in her stomach.

If she hadn't felt so bad, she would have almost laughed as both Elves hurried to her side. Elladan grabbed the chamber pot, which was standing empty on the floor. He sat on the bed and that motion was all it took. Jeren emptied her stomach into the pot just as Elladan settled it beneath her chin.

"Well that was certainly unpleasant of you, young lady," Elrohir said, entering the room. Jeren looked up, the scowl on her face damning him to a balrog's abyss. She said nothing. She just looked at him like he was Melkor incarnate.

"Elrohir," Elladan said, chastising him. "Can you not see Jeren is in misery here? Leave her be. Go find someone else to bother. And take Galion with you."

"Oh Elladan, I am not bothering Jeren, am I sweetling?" Elrohir asked, innocently.

"Don't call me that, and yes you are bothering me," she answered. After she had swallowed a few times, trying to settle her stomach some, she asked, "Why don't you come over here? Perhaps I might miss the pot next time and hit you." She took a deep breath, and Elladan could tell she was going to do it again. And she did.

"Ugh, Jeren, would you please keep it down?" Elrohir joked.

"His jests are sicker than I am," Jeren remarked, more to herself than to anyone else.

Elladan rose and handed the offensive pot to Galion, who immediately held it at arm's length. "Go dispose of that and bring it back. And be sure to clean it first." He then turned his attention to Elrohir. "Brother," he said sweetly. "Go away. Is she not sick enough without you adding your miserable presence to the mix?"

Elrohir pushed past Elladan and went to Jeren's bedside. She had leaned back into the pillows, and had closed her eyes. _At least she wasn't crying. That was an improvement_. Not wanting to jar the bed and cause her further upset, he knelt beside it and took up a cloth from the table, and dipped it into the ever-present bowl of water standing there. He then washed her face, cooling it.

"Thank you, Elladan," Jeren said without opening her eyes. "That feels really good."

"I will tell Elladan on your behalf, Jeren," Elrohir replied, "as soon as he returns." She opened her good eye, looking at him and then closed it again. She hadn't heard either one of them move. How on earth did they do this moving about without making any sound? _Must be another of those Elven mysteries Elladan had been talking about._

Jeren soon went back to sleep, after being given some sort of tea for her nausea. Elladan had broken the terrible news to her that it was probably the Miruvor that was causing her to feel so sickly. He also shared with her that only time would heal the symptoms drinking too much of it caused. She just closed her eyes. Surely, if the Valar be merciful, tomorrow would be an improvement over today. It would have to be. It couldn't get worse. Could it?

Eventually, she slept.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next morning, Elladan could sense the change the moment he entered the room. There was a faint scent in the air that bode ill for the girl in the bed. His keen Elven sense of smell detected the undeniable odor of infection. _But they had been so careful_.

Dreading what he would find as he approached the bed, Elladan prepared to face the inevitable. Jeren lay sleeping, unaware of his presence. He gazed down into her face, seeing immediately the flushed skin of her cheeks, the beads of sweat on her brow. He bent over her, inspecting the stitched gash beside her left eye. It was healing nicely. No indication of infection in it at all. Were he placing a wager, he would bet the large wound on her chest was responsible. He wasn't surprised. A horse's hoof would more than rival the blade of an Orc in a contest of filthiness.

Turning slowly, Elladan left the room, being even more quiet than usual in closing the door. After he heard the doorknob catch, he released it, and leaned against the door, his forehead pressed to the wood. Hearing Elrohir approach, he turned to face him. He didn't even have to speak before Elrohir was asking him what was wrong.

Ignoring his brother's question, Elladan glanced around the room, and then said, "Where are the others?"

"They grew tired of idleness, so went hunting for our next meal." Elrohir looked out of the back window, watching the sunrise in the east. "I, for one, am very glad. The Orcs didn't leave much untouched in the house, and we all grow hungry. I instructed them to get some fowl if possible. We could make a soup, and see if the young lady in there would deign to eat some."

"I am uncertain as to whether she will feel up to it, Elrohir," Elladan said with a sigh.

"Why, Brother?" Elrohir asked. "Was she not all right when you checked on her earlier?"

"At least one of her wounds is infected," Elladan said, exhaling a long breath. "I could smell it when I entered the room. She is flushed and sweating. She has all the signs of infection."

Elrohir put his hand on his brother's forearm. "She will be fine, Elladan. We've cured infection before, we can do it again."

"But Elrohir," Elladan said, having to check his voice; it was becoming louder as his anger increased. "Think of the wound on her chest. Remember how dirty it was? And she said it was caused by her mare's hoof. Do you think anything could be filthier? And all the time we wasted waiting for her to allow us to treat it! I fear this infection will be severe."

"Calm down, Elladan," Elrohir said. "You know— "

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Elladan shouted, and then winced, remembering Jeren sleeping in the other room.

"I am not the enemy here, Elladan," Elrohir soothed.

"I know, Brother," Elladan apologized. "It is just so frustrating, that is all. It is a good thing she is such a fighter. She just may be in for a hard time of it, if this infection is as severe as I think it may be."

"Let's not be hasty. We will examine her in a little while and decide how to proceed from there," Elrohir answered. "And be not so quick to deem the infection severe. It may be so, but then it may not. We are a little over a day's ride from home. If it is too bad, we will take her to Father. He will be able to do something. You know this to be true."

"My intention all along was to take her home with us, Elrohir," Elladan admitted, although he knew this was not news to his brother. "But I had planned to have her well on her way to recovery before we subjected her to what is sure to be a tortuous trip."

"Well, plans change, Elladan," was Elrohir's reply. "The best we can do is change with them and hope for the best."

Elladan nodded his head and announced his intention of going for a walk. "I'm going outside for awhile. Would you keep a close ear out, in case she calls for us?"

"I will without doubt, Brother," Elrohir promised. "I would offer to accompany you, but I sense it is not company that you seek."

"Thank you, Elrohir." Elladan looked deeply into his brother's eyes and sighed. Elrohir pulled his twin into his arms. "She will be fine, Elladan. Have faith."

It had always been this way between the brothers. Elladan took the weight of Middle Earth upon his shoulders, and Elrohir would help him bear it, for he could not take it from him. He had tried on numerous occasions to dissuade his brother from guilt or responsibility in the event of some catastrophe, but had finally ceased to do so; he was never successful. While both twins each had strong personalities, Elladan had emerged the leader of the two. That's not to say Elrohir had not led them into some doubtful situations, but all in all, when strong leadership was called for, Elladan was naturally looked to for guidance.

"Thank you, Brother," Elladan said. "Call if she awakens."

Elrohir assured his brother that he would, and after Elladan was safely outside, Elrohir entered the bedroom without waiting to listen for signs that Jeren was awake. He wanted to look at her himself—see what was infected, and how badly, so he could reassure his brother in good faith that all would be well.

He, too, noticed the scent of infection on the air as soon as he entered the room. After silently treading to her bedside, Elrohir stopped beside the bed. She did not look good. Her face was slightly flushed with heat from the fever. The hair around her face was becoming damp with sweat. He retrieved the bowl from the bedside table and left, returning a few minutes later with fresh water. By now Jeren had sensed movement around her and had awoken to feeling worse than she had yesterday, if that was possible. _How could this be? I should be healing, not getting worse._

"How are you feeling, young lady?" Elrohir asked.

"How do you think?" Jeren asked sarcastically.

"I can see being sick hasn't affected your mood any," Elrohir answered, with like sarcasm. "It was foul before, and it is foul still."

"What is your excuse then, Elrohir?" Jeren asked.

He smiled and said, "Point taken, Jeren. Shall we start over from the beginning? Let me rephrase my original question. I can see you feel worse today. Can you tell me what has changed since last night?"

She smiled at him. He was such a mischievous Elf. You either had to love him or hate him. There seemed to be no middle ground. And what was even funnier was that you could switch from loving him to hating him in a split second. She did see that underneath all his biting wit and maddening sarcasm beat a heart of gold. It was sometimes very far underneath it all, but it was there.

"I feel like something you might scrape off your boot after a trip through a stable," Jeren said. "Does that somewhat enlighten you as to how I feel?"

"You are a maddening Human, do you know that young lady?" Elrohir declared, eyebrows drawn together in a mock frown. "I know you are not going to like this, but I _am _going undress that wound we stitched up yesterday, and look at it. I fear it may be what is making you feel like—manure, for lack of a better word."

Jeren knew he was right to want to look at his handiwork, but knowing that still didn't help. Plus, she was feeling very contrary today, and nobody was going to push her around. Nobody. She hadn't stopped to think that she was still bandaged tightly, and very much in pain from all the various cuts and bruises and broken bones she suffered. The little fight she had in her was ludicrous to ponder.

"I think you will not," Jeren retorted quietly. "You had your way yesterday. That was more than enough for me."

Elrohir narrowed his usually large brown eyes. "You dare to challenge me, young lady? Need I remind you that I am an Elf, and as such, am a mystery to you? You have no notion of what I may be capable of doing to you to ensure your cooperation."

Jeren was no longer smiling, and now she was feeling very much depressed. She knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent anyone from doing whatever they wished to her. The Orcs proved that well enough two days ago. She simply turned her face away from Elrohir.

He closed his eyes, sensing that he had once again upset her much more than was his intent. He actually hadn't meant to upset her at all, but he had managed it just the same. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. She did not look at him or say a word.

Elrohir said with regret, "I do not know what exactly I said to hurt you, Jeren, but I do apologize for my sarcasm. You seem to bring out the worst in me, do you know that?"

She did not turn to face him, but said in a quiet voice, "It is all right, Elrohir. I know I am being difficult, and my father would have my hide were he to learn of my disobedience." She tried desperately not to cry, but failed. "It is just that I have learned a very hard lesson these past few days. I have learned that no matter how strong you may feel, or how correctly you try to live your life, anyone or anything can move in on you, and crush you into the dirt."

Her words hit at his heart and he felt his own tears close to falling. It is funny how you don't usually consider the feelings of others in the midst of an argument. You know only of your wishes and do not make the effort to think of how the other person may really feel. The defeat in her voice had been the last emotion he had expected to hear. More defiance? Yes. Despair? No.

He tentatively reached for her chin, to bring her face toward him. He wanted her to see that she had broken through his tough veneer. She gave him no fight, nor did she flinch. She simply surrendered.

Looking into her eyes, he said to her, "I know what it is you are saying, Jeren. Within seconds all you hold dear can be ripped from your grasp as you stand there and watch. The helplessness beats upon your soul, yet there is nothing that can change the events that unfold." He blinked his eyes, and the tears that were welled there ran freely down his face.

Jeren looked at him, her eyes wide and said, "Elrohir, I am sorry—I didn't mean to hurt you—"

Elrohir chuckled quietly and reached for her hand. Holding it in his lap, he looked into her eyes and said, "Worry naught about it, youngling. As you grow more familiar with Elves and their ways, you will find that we are apt to show our feelings openly." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, then lowered it back onto his knee.

"If you are up to it, I have a story I wish to tell you," he said.

She nodded. "I would like that."

As he started, another tear escaped his eye. "There was a beautiful female Elf who lived in Imladris—where I live—but her mother and father lived in Lothlorien. Perhaps you have heard of the Golden Wood?"

Jeren shook her head, "No, I have not heard of it before."

"I will tell you of it some other time, if you wish, but for now it will do just to know that it was the Elf woman's home before she lived in Imladris. She missed her parents and the woods where she spent her childhood, and would travel to visit from time to time. It was on her way to one of these visits that Orcs ambushed her and the party escorting her. Those of the party who were not killed outright were taken against their will, including the beautiful Elf woman. She was rescued a short time later, but she had taken a wound from one of the Orcs' poisoned weapons, so was very ill for a long time. She could not overcome the illness nor her emotional trauma. The Orcs had used her violently, just as they have done to you." One of his tears had fallen onto Jeren's hand as it lay in his lap. He brushed it away with his thumb and continued. "The beautiful Elf woman's name is Celebrian, and she is my mother."

Jeren gasped. Elrohir squeezed her hand, but resumed his story. "My father—his name is Elrond. Perhaps you have heard of him?" Jeren nodded her head at that. Elrohir continued, "He is an extraordinary lore master, as well as one of the best healers in all of Middle Earth."

"Yes, my father told me of him," Jeren said. "He didn't say that he knew him, but since you have said that my father has been to your home, he must. Is that right?"

"Exactly right. Your father has been to my home many times. I am not surprised that he did not mention it. Imladris is somewhat a hidden sanctuary. It is difficult if not impossible to find if you do not know where to look. We Elves have become somewhat reclusive during the past few centuries, and we would frown on others telling of our hidden home.

"To continue the story—my father attempted to heal my mother of her poisoning, but try as he might, he could not purge it from her. Also, she was very emotionally fragile from the Orcs' ill use of her, and she could not go back to the life she once led. After much thought and counsel with my father, she decided to leave. She sailed to the Undying Lands."

"There was nothing my father, Elladan or I, nor my sister Arwen could say that would change her mind. My family's life was changed the instant she was abducted. And it changed again after Elladan and I rescued her. What should have been a joyous reunion was sorrowful. She was sick and disheartened. She was never the same, as we will never be the same.

"So, Jeren, I know exactly of what you speak. Our lives change constantly. Sometimes for good, sometimes for bad. While I love my mother with all of my heart, I resent sometimes that she chose the Orcs who captured her over me. She gave up the fight and let them win. In my eyes, she allowed them to control her life even after they no longer held her captive. That is why I felt compelled to tell you her story. I was afraid I would see the Orcs win another battle—that for your life. And that is a battle I want you to win. They are a scourge upon Middle Earth, Jeren, and Elladan and I fight continuously to rid our world of as many of them as we can, and for as long as we can. I hope you will fight to take your life back from them. Fight like you have never fought before. Your life is all you have, when all is said and done. Your body may be hurt and broken, but as long as you live, there is hope. Please try to remember that, Jeren. "

Jeren was no longer crying. She looked at her storyteller with new eyes. Gone was the arrogant Elf who made her angry by his mere presence. Here was the kind Elf, who may have just told her a story that would change her life forever.

"Elrohir, would come a little closer, please?" Jeren asked quietly. He complied, but she decided he was still not close enough. "A little closer, please?"

He leaned in closer. "Jeren, if I move any closer to you, I will be in bed with you, you know."

She ignored his rude comment, and placed a sweet kiss upon his cheek.

"Thank you, Elrohir," she said. "That was something I needed to hear. I am sorry for being so stubborn, and I will try—it will be _hard_, but I will try—to be more cooperative with you and Elladan. I do want my life back. They will not win. I promise you Elrohir."

"So," Elrohir chimed, feigning evil, "will you bare your breast to me, now?"

"My body is yours to do with as you see fit, my lord," she returned with a wicked grin, made even more evil looking by the injuries on her face.

Elladan had been standing just outside the door, listening to his twin's story about their mother. He composed himself and entered the room.

"What is this?" Elladan asked, trying to sound shocked. "Elrohir, have you been plying Jeren with Miruvor again? I believe I just heard you make an indecent proposition, and she replied with one as well. Were she in her right mind, she would be slapping your face at this moment!"

"No, Brother, she has just agreed to be cooperative. A pleasant change, would you not agree?" Elrohir said, with a mischievous smile aimed at Jeren.

"If it were not so hard to believe, I might. What has occurred to change her mind? Have you worked some of your Elven magic on her?" Elladan was smiling now, as well.

Elrohir looked at Jeren, a look of profound admiration in his eyes. "No, Elladan, she has simply had a change of heart. That is all."

He winked at the girl in the bed, and she winked back. She didn't know how long she would be able to stay happy with this irritating person, but at least she knew he was capable of being something other than sarcastic and arrogant.

"Elves," she said simply. "I think I could live a thousand years trying to figure you out, and I still would not come close to doing it."

"I will let you in on another secret of the Elves," Elladan said, one eyebrow raised. "Living more than a thousand years has not helped us to understand Humans."


	6. Anardil

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Jeren was mortified yet again. The Elves gathered the things they would need to examine the wound on her chest, and the moment of her exposure was near at hand. The more she grew to like the twins, the more embarrassed she was when they tended to her. She didn't really understand this reaction, for in her mind, the opposite should have been true. Perhaps it was because they were beautiful, and she was not, especially now, covered with cuts, bruises and bandages. Whatever the reason, she was truly unsettled when they bared her body to their view, even when it was only to help her.

After the story Elrohir had told her, Jeren felt a new respect for him. However, it did not take long before he was again beginning to rile her. As soon as both Elves had settled on the bed next to her, on opposite sides, Elladan took his knife and slit the bandage that covered the wound on her chest. Jeren closed her eyes, not wanting to look into their faces. But her ears were open, and she bit her lip when Elrohir whistled quietly.

Startled, she opened her eyes quickly. Elrohir was troubled by her reaction, as well he should have been, and he hastened to reassure her. He grasped her left arm lightly in his hands, concern for her on his face.

"Worry not, Jeren," he said, "I am an ass. That much has been established by all here present. Your injury is a bit infected, but it is not bad—not nearly as bad—as my reaction would have indicated."

Jeren looked to Elladan for reassurance, that what Elrohir had said was indeed the truth. Elladan smiled and winked at her.

"The ass is telling you aright, sweetling," he said kindly. "Tis not badly infected. It is red, and somewhat angry, but nothing as bad as all that." Elladan began bathing the wound in the herbal tea he had prepared before they had undressed the wound. "If we poultice it and bathe it thusly for a few hours, it will become less irritated, and by tonight I believe it will be well on the way to recovering. And—" He paused for effect. "If all is well in the morning, we are taking you home to our father; he will heal you completely. You will be very relieved to have someone who really knows what he is doing taking over your care."

Jeren laughed and then groaned. The movement not only jarred her broken bone, it hurt the stitches in her chest and the broken ribs as well.

"Do not make me laugh. That is so mean," she said with a smile. "Will you really take me to Imladris?"

"Yes," Elrohir said. "We will fashion some sort of a traveling cot between the horses in which to carry you. You will travel as a queen, Jeren."

Jeren started to laugh again, but thought better of it. She did smile, though, and shook her head slightly at these impossible Elves who were tending her. In her preoccupation with them, she had all but forgotten that she was sitting there half naked with their hands on her. Too bad she remembered now. She closed her eyes and blushed. Hopefully this day would pass quickly. They would be doing this quite a bit she was sure. Elladan had said they would be tending the wound with poultices and medicated baths, and that meant hands and nakedness. _Would she ever survive all this embarrassment?_

The following morning, the Elves were up before the sun, preparing for the trip back to Imladris. The twins had been well pleased with Jeren's progress yesterday, and had assured their companions that they would be leaving today without fail. The other warriors were chafing to be underway. They were unused to idleness, especially for so long a time. Truthfully, it was also wearing on the twins, but they had Jeren to look after and worry over, so their time had been taken up in a worthy cause.

The other warriors had set about building the 'throne' Elrohir had promised Jeren she would be transported on. It was basically a litter lashed between two horses, so that she could lie down. After Elladan and Elrohir had bound her broken clavicle, they had been slowly lowering her into a more reclined position, until she was by this time only using two pillows, and was now lying almost flat in the bed. Hopefully, she would be able to lie flat enough to tolerate the ride in this contraption without undue pain.

The minute Jeren was awake, and had her morning's needs taken care of, Elladan set about gathering a few things she would need once she began to feel better. Not wanting to seem too intrusive, he asked her where he might find something in which he may carry a few things for her. She directed him to the bottom drawer of the dresser, where he found a bundled pack, which, when unfolded, was really quite large. He then asked her to help him find some clothing she may want, for when she would be well enough to put some on again. He asked if there was anything else she may want included to be taken with her, and she only indicated her mother's quilt. She would not leave that behind for anything in the world.

After all else was ready, and the only thing left to be loaded was Jeren herself, Elrohir came to her bedside, and gently lifted her from the place she had not left for more than three days. She was bandaged heavily around the shoulders and chest, to keep her broken clavicle as immobile as possible. They had found a pair of her father's under drawers after she complained of being naked all the time, so she was clad in those, and thus not bare to the world after he lifted her from the bed. She hadn't expected her world to spin uncontrollably at the sudden movement, so when she instinctively tried to right herself, she caused herself much pain. She cried out pitifully, which caused Elrohir to tighten his grip, which only caused the pressure to increase on Jeren's shoulders. It was all too much to bear, and she began to weep quietly. Elladan came to the rescue quickly, helping Elrohir to lower Jeren back onto the bed once more.

"What happened, Sweetling?" Elladan asked with concern.

Between gasping breaths, she tried to answer, "I— I— was—dizzy—"

Elrohir was also leaning over her, feeling bad for having hurt her.

"I seem to have a knack for making you cry, Young Lady," he said without mirth.

"It wasn't your fault this time, Elrohir," she said.

Elrohir chuckled, marking her qualification of 'this time'. "I am certainly glad of that, Jeren," he replied.

Elladan was thoughtful for a moment, trying to decide what to do to alleviate the problem. He looked at Elrohir and his twin met his gaze. Jeren watched them as they watched each other, until she could contain her curiosity no longer.

"Well, what are you two telling each other?" she demanded. "I swear! If you aren't speaking that Elvish talk that I cannot understand, you must be speaking mind to mind or something else that I cannot hear. You know that is not fair, especially if you are speaking about me."

"We are only trying to decide how best to proceed, Jeren," Elrohir said, trying to appease her. "Have you any ideas concerning how best to move you without causing you either dizziness or pain? Perhaps another good dose of Miruvor might be in order?" he added sarcastically, his eyebrows arched together in a sinister frown.

"Eru forbid you give me that!" she exclaimed. "I would just as soon hurt as be sick with the headache and retching _that_ concoction brought on."

"Well, Sweetling," Elladan said, "you very well may be retching before long with the dizziness brought on from that concussion. Perhaps Elrohir has a point. The Miruvor would delay the inevitable by putting you to sleep, but at least you would be in a comfortable place when you began to feel wretched once it wears off."

"I have a request before you make me swallow that horrible drink," Jeren said. "Would you please let me try to walk?" Before they could get the words out to protest, she plowed on. "Please? If you hold me up, at least I will be upright. You will be right here should I become unsteady and I will get where I am going. Please? At least let me try?"

The Elves looked at each other again, Elladan nodded, and Elrohir said, "All right, Jeren. But if you so much as look like you will fall, one of us is picking you up. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she said.

The twins helped Jeren carefully scoot around, until her feet were almost touching the floor. She then took a deep breath and said, "All right. I am ready, if you will help me to sit up slowly."

Each Elf gripped one of her arms just above her wrists, and also supported her back. Slowly, by inches, they helped her into a sitting position. As soon as she was sitting, they were all motionless, waiting to see if Jeren would remain conscious and keep her breakfast down. She was very pale, but otherwise seemed none the worse for the wear. She took a deep breath, and looked at first one of the brothers and then at the other, with a small smile creeping across her lips. After a few more minutes of resting on the side of the bed, she indicated she was ready to try to stand. Elladan held up one hand, as if to stop her and went to the dresser. He opened one of the drawers, rummaged around for a moment, and brought forth a pair of socks for her bare feet.

"We have no slippers for the queen's feet," he said, "so silk stockings will have to do." Jeren wanted to laugh, but she had learned her lesson the day before. She instead stayed still, while Elladan dressed her feet in the finery he had found. _Silk stockings indeed! These were a pair of her father's old woolen socks he wore on cold winter mornings!_

With an Elf at each side helping support her weight, Jeren slowly stood. She was very weak, what with her injuries and being bedridden for the past few days. As soon as she was completely upright, she locked her knees and stood still, trying to maintain her balance in her spiraling world.

She did so want to make this work. That Miruvor was such a vile drink. She desperately did not want to be forced to have any of it.

"Brother," Elrohir said, "take her weight for a minute, while I get the quilt to place around her."

Elladan did as Elrohir asked, leaning Jeren against his side. Jeren was in quite a bit of pain, but she dared not say a word about it for fear of the dreaded Elven beverage.

"The queen's train," Elrohir said, as he settled the quilt around Jeren's shoulders. She stifled a giggle at the Elf's absurdity. He took his place at her side once again, and the trio made their way painstakingly toward the outside of the house. The three made quite a sight, since Jeren's arms were practically tethered to her sides. She was sandwiched between the two Elves, and since she was such a small girl anyway, the twins almost had their arms circling each other's waists.

The early morning sun made Jeren wince with its brightness, but it was a welcome pain. She was basically a creature of the outdoors and being cooped up inside, she had missed the warming rays of the sun that she usually took for granted.

As she emerged from the house, flanked by Elladan and Elrohir, the other Elven warriors bowed to her and she blushed a bright pink. The Elves smiled broadly and walked forward, wanting to help in any way they could.

The problem of how to get the injured girl into a prone position from a standing one, would prove difficult at best. It was not possible for her to sit on the side of it really; it was too far from the ground for her to reach. After some discussion about the problem, Celduin knelt on one knee and wove his hands into a 'step', which she used for a boost in order to sit upon the side of the 'throne'. Elrohir had taken two of the pillows from the bed before they had left the house, and he now dropped them upon the cot. Then, with the help of several pairs of Elven hands, she was helped to slowly lie down.

Everyone froze where they stood, as Jeren lay still, waiting to see if she would be able to remain prone on the cot, which was tied between two Elven horses. She had closed her eyes against the spinning world, so she again slowly opened them. She took several deep breaths and swallowed several times, not daring to speak. She was very nauseous. However, she in no way wanted to tell the twins that; she feared they would force their vile liquor on her.

After what seemed an eternity, the bile seemed to lower itself back down her throat, and her world ceased tilting from side to side. She heaved one final large sigh, and smiled. One more hurdle crossed. Now, to actually ride on this silly contraption.

The Elves had rigged the cot so that whichever way they traveled, the sun was never on Jeren. The shadow of the horse and rider to either side of her was always sheltering her from the blistering rays of the sun. She didn't spend any time wondering how such a thing was possible, she was just thankful for the shade. At first, Jeren was afraid that she would be left in the care of Elves that she did not know. How would they know what to do for her, and how would they know what she would need? But as soon as she saw Elladan and Elrohir mount the horses on either side of the cot, she breathed a sigh of relief. She felt completely at ease knowing that if she had any trouble, they would know how to fix it.

As soon as the horses started their slow walk, Jeren's world began to tilt and spin. She tried very hard to be still and willed her stomach to stay calm. Sweat began to bead on her face and her breathing quickened. Even though it seemed as if the twins weren't paying attention, they were, and even before they had gotten clear of the yard, Elladan raised his hand to call a stop.

"Jeren," Elladan said quietly as he dismounted. He walked around his horse, ducking under its neck to shorten his trip. "You are not doing so well, are you?"

"I am fine, Elladan." she replied. "Why did we stop?" Her voice was weak and trembling, even to her own ears.

"You know very well why we stopped," Elrohir said, as he joined his brother beside her. "You're as green as the grass beneath these trees we are under."

Jeren gave a weak laugh, trying unsuccessfully to prove that she was indeed fine, but the twins would have none of it. Their stern faces told of a good dosing of Miruvor in her future.

"Please," Jeren pleaded, "before you go forcing that nasty drink on me, would you please try that chanting prayer? You know the one—where you hold my hands?"

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, wondering if this plan of Jeren's had even a ghost of a chance of working.

"You are much too awake for that to be effective, Jeren," Elrohir said with regret. "It just wouldn't work."

"But I would concentrate very hard," Jeren insisted.

"That would have the opposite effect," Elladan said gently.

"Please?" Jeren asked, near tears. It was then that the Elves knew she desperately did not want the drink that they offered. They knew she did not care for its aftereffects, but they hadn't realized it was to this extent.

"All right, Jeren," Elladan said, "we will try." Elrohir frowned at his brother, but Elladan continued at any rate, "but instead of your concentration, we would need the opposite from you—your complete relaxation. Do you believe you can accomplish this?"

"Yes," Jeren replied. "Yes, I can do it. I will do it. Please try." She looked so relieved that Elrohir couldn't help but agree with Elladan's decision to at least attempt this method again. The brothers knelt on the ground side by side, and took Jeren's hands within their own joined ones, closed their eyes, and began softly chanting the ancient healing words of the Elves.

Jeren loosened her body into a boneless heap, relaxing from her eyebrows down to her toes, wanting this to work so badly. She heard the words softly in her mind, could feel a soothing warmth steal its way from where the Elves were gently holding her fingers, creeping slowly into her hands and up her arms, until she felt no more. There was soft velvet blackness, as if she were lying upon a down pillow, being warmed by a rayless sun. She sighed with contentment.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When Jeren finally awoke, no one noticed at first. She took the time to watch the riders on either side of her. She had never had the chance to see the Elves when they didn't know she was looking at them. She was usually so embarrassed by something they were doing, that she hadn't taken much notice of their features when she had the chance.

It was indeed true that they were beautiful creatures, and that in itself was surprising. They were male beings and were not supposed to be beautiful, yet they were. And looking at the other Elves that she could see from her vantage point, they all were. If the males were this comely, the females would most likely make her faint dead away with their loveliness. Jeren just could not imagine such beauty. She could not even imagine what she must look like to them. _No, it would be less stressful not to think of such a thing._

Looking back to the twins, she began to compare the two. She tried to mark the differences between them, but gave up, because there were none. How could this be? How could two beings be so completely the same? Even their beautiful ears were alike. Jeren's fingers fairly itched to touch one of their ears, so perfect they were. They looked to be porcelain, or chiseled from the finest of stone by an artist. But they would not be cold as stone or glass would be. No, they would be warm, as would be the rest of Elladan. It was then that Jeren realized that she had been gazing at Elladan only and not Elrohir at all. It was only because he was more directly in her line of vision, that was all. There was no other reason.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, Elladan turned his head to see her gazing up at him. A smile crossed his face and he winked at her again.

"How are you doing, Sweetling?" he asked.

She frowned, suddenly realizing her world wasn't spinning at all. "I am doing very well," she said skeptically, as if she expected it to change at any moment.

"That is good to hear," he replied. "You are no longer a sickly shade of green, nor is sweat pouring from you as if you were a fountain. I would say that is quite an improvement. You are no longer dizzy?"

"No," Jeren said. "I'm not; though I am afraid to say so loudly. I fear I may incite it to return."

Both Elves laughed at that, and Elrohir said, "We have ridden through the noon hour and it is now mid afternoon. We will stop before long and camp for the night, unless you feel you cannot continue. The longer we ride, the closer we get to Imladris, and the sooner you will be more comfortable."

"I am very comfortable as I am, so we can go on, as far as I am concerned," Jeren said.

"Are you telling me you are in no pain?" Elladan asked skeptically.

"Well," Jeren began, "I would be fibbing were I to tell you that I was feeling no pain, but it is not bad. I want to continue."

"What do you think, Brother?" Elrohir asked. "Should we keep going?

"Well," Elladan said with a sigh. "Let's keep going for awhile longer, then we will make camp. This girl thinks she's well, but I have news for her; she is still far from mended."

He looked down into her scowling face and laughed, but said no more. Jeren lay there and sulked for a while, but she soon forgot about Elladan's cutting remark. He made her sound so weak and clinging, when she was nothing of the sort. She started thinking about the Elves and Imladris, and whether her father was mayhap there waiting for her. Before she knew it, a couple of hours had passed and they were stopping for the day.

It seemed as if someone had stirred an anthill, the way the Elves all dismounted and began assembling the campsite. One of them unloaded the horses, or took what little tack they used off of them, one left to fill water skins, and two just left with their bows in their hands. One began searching the immediate area for small kindling for starting a fire, and then began to set it.

Before long, Elrohir and Celduin had fashioned a soft pallet for Jeren, and with the pillows against a tree, they had made a fine backrest and she could sit up for awhile. She did indeed feel like a queen, when at least three pairs of Elven hands helped her to sit down and lean back against the pillow-padded tree. The fire was going merrily, and two of the Elves were back from hunting and were now at the edge of the campsite skinning a few rabbits they had brought down with their bows. Orcs and pain were the last things on Jeren's mind as she sat there amid these strange new friends of hers.

Tarmenel seemed to be the one in charge of cooking, and as soon as the two Elves who had killed the game had finished cleaning them, they handed the rabbits off to him to roast. And roast them he did. Jeren had not had any real solid food in more than three days, and the aroma of the roasting meat was almost too much for her to bear. She had been drinking broths and teas, but had been eating nothing more substantial than those liquids, and her stomach was more than ready for something filling.

Elrohir had been watching Jeren eye the roasting rabbit hungrily, so when he was sure one of the limbs of the animals was done, he approached Tarmenel, whispering something to him, and together they cut a leg from one of the small carcasses. Tarmenel took the small leg and walked over to Jeren. He crouched down in front of her, and with the sweetest smile she believed she ever had seen on another living soul, he offered her a sample of his cooking.

"Would you please taste this," he asked, "to make sure it is seasoned correctly?"

"It would be my pleasure," she said. "Thank you." She took the offered piece of rabbit, and immediately lifted the meat to her lips. She blew on it—it was steaming—then took a tentative bite. Finding it cool enough, she took a larger, more fulfilling taste. With her eyes closed and a smile on her face, she chewed slowly, savoring it for all it was worth. Tarmenel was still in front of her, and began chuckling softly.

"I believe that means that it is seasoned satisfactorily," he said.

"Satisfactorily does not do it the justice it deserves," Jeren said solemnly, opening her eyes. "Magnificently is more the way it should be described. This is wonderful."

"Well, eat up, then," Tarmenel said. "There is more rabbit cooking and there are even more on the hop in the wood, if you eat all that we have over the fire!"

Jeren laughed, and groaned. "I am going to— kill you—" she laughed, "if I live— through this—" she said. "You Elves must cease making me laugh. It hurts like fire. You are so mean."

"Oh it hurts me like fire just to look upon Tarmenel's face," Galion said as he walked up to the others.

Jeren groaned again, drawing her knees up, trying so hard to ease the pain of laughing.

"Please, please, I am begging you," she pleaded. "Try very hard to not make me laugh. I will be crying soon."

"Tarmenel, I believe Celduin is burning the game," Elladan said, as he sat down next to Jeren and handed her a water skin. Tarmenel jerked around and stood, hurrying to the fire to ensure the safety of his works of art.

Jeren placed her hands over her ears and began to hum softly, in a vain attempt to drown out the weak, but effective, jests of the Elves.

The group spent the rest of the evening gathered around the simple fire, enjoying each other's company, spinning yarns and trying not to make Jeren laugh—at least that was their claim. Not long after their meal, the Elves began to notice the lines of fatigue around the young Human girl's eyes and decided it was time to dismantle her chair and convert it to her bed for the night. It wasn't long before the fire had died down to glowing embers, and the Elves keeping watch began softly singing in Elvish, lullabies unknown to Jeren, but effective in lulling her to sleep.

Just a bit past midnight, it was apparent that the sleeping girl was no longer sleeping peacefully. She began to toss on her pallet and murmur softly but fearfully. It took merely seconds for Elladan to be at her side and only seconds after that, pandemonium broke loose when Jeren suddenly sat straight up. She screamed in an agonized voice, calling for her mother and throwing her arms forward as far as the bandages holding them would let her. Unfortunately, it was far enough, and the forward movement, along with the sideways pressure of the bandages, caused the cracked bones of her clavicle to break completely with a audible click, causing Jeren to scream a second time.

Elladan was right there, holding her as she slumped sobbing into his chest, crying pitifully about the pain, begging him to make it stop. He tried to ease her back down to her pallet, but she wouldn't let go of him. She had his tunic gripped within her fists so tightly, he feared it may break her fingers to try to pry them off.

"Jeren, Sweetling," he crooned to her, "let go. Let me see what you have done to yourself."

She was incoherent with the pain, but she would not let go.

"Elrohir!" Elladan yelled.

"Right here, Brother," Elrohir said quietly from Elladan's side.

"Help me ease her down, please?" he said. "I am fearful at what we may see. Did you hear the snap?"

"I heard," Elrohir replied soberly. "I am so tempted to smack her in the jaw, to render her unconscious. It would be a kindness, not a punishment."

"You certainly have my blessing, Brother, if you choose to do so," Elladan said.

And with that, Elrohir hit her, and she slumped where she was, her hands finally releasing Elladan's tunic.

"She will probably never forgive me for this one," Elrohir said.

"She will probably kiss you for this one, Brother," Elladan replied wryly, as he eased the unconscious girl back down to her bed.

By this time the other Elves had lit several torches; they too had heard the awful snap, and knew exactly what had caused the sound. They all gathered around Jeren, and as soon as she was again down against the pallet, Elladan frowned and sighed. There was now blood spreading across the bandage along the break in her clavicle.

"The break is now compound, Elrohir," Elladan said, stating the obvious.

"It would appear so," Elrohir replied.

"How far would you say we are from home?" Elladan asked whoever would answer him.

"About three hours, the way we traveled yesterday," replied Galion, "probably one, at a gallop as we usually travel."

He returned to Jeren's side, and again peered at the bandage. The blood had not spread an alarming amount in the short time he had spent trying to figure out the best course of action. He was sorely tempted to untie her and assess the damage, but he wanted not to take so much time. And he also did not have the cloth necessary to rebind her. Either way, he could not mend this. This injury was in his father's realm of healing. He again stood.

"Let's break camp," he said.

They began to gather up their things and put out the fire. They called the horses, The Elven horses were usually allowed to roam free. Elladan discussed with Elrohir the best way to transport Jeren.

"I think if one of us carries her," Elladan said, "it will be less jarring on her. We cannot afford to let that bone keep widening that cut it has made through her skin."

"That is true, brother," Elrohir said. "Are you volunteering?"

"Yes," Elladan said. "You know I am."

And in truth, Elrohir did indeed know it. He would not have been allowed to carry the injured girl even had he wanted to. Elladan always felt the responsibility in every crisis, no matter what it was. It was just something Elrohir had come to expect and accept.

The woods were soon back to the way in which they had found it, so Elrohir and Elladan again inspected Jeren's bandage for continued bleeding. They were relieved that the bleeding appeared to be stopped for the moment. The blood on the bandage appeared to be drying. They had no doubt that it would start again, as soon as they moved her, but it did give them hope that it wasn't a major wound. It had not bled badly or for long.

Six of the Elves gently lifted Jeren from the pallet, eventually handing her off to Elrohir, while Elladan mounted his horse. The remaining Elf gathered up Jeren's pallet, folded it and stowed it away for travel. Now came the tricky part. They had to find a fallen log, or something to boost Elrohir's height, so that he could hand Jeren up to Elladan without too much jostling, and then tie her to him, to stabilize her as they rode.

They found one fallen log, and tried it, but it was too short. They hunted around some more, and after two more tries, found one that met their need. It took no time at all to accomplish their task and before long they were on their way at a full gallop towards Imladris.

Luck was with them, and Jeren remained unconscious for the most part. Elladan heard her groan a few times, and it was then that he began softly singing to her. He would sing songs that his mother or father would sing to him when he was unhappy or hurt as an Elfling growing up in Imladris. He knew not if it helped her, but in some small way, it was helping him, for reasons he did not understand himself.

They had reached the ford of the Bruinin, when Jeren finally woke up and began crying softly. Elladan was very glad she had not awoken an hour earlier. That would have been torturous, coming down the slope into the valley. It was now merely minutes to rescue by his father—rescue for Jeren and rescue for him. The responsibility for this girl was weighing on him.

It wasn't long before they were joined by border guards, who fell in beside them on their mounts, throwing greetings at the returning warriors and questions about Jeren as they rode. One of the border guards broke away, galloping ahead to announce the return of the sons of Elrond.

The tired travelers drew their horses to a stop at the front steps outside of the palatial home of Elrond, just as the twins' father was descending the final step of the staircase. Elladan and Elrohir were gladdened by the sight of Anardil, Jeren's father, limping with the aid of a walking stick just a step behind their father. Elrohir jumped from his horse and ran to aid Elladan.

"Well met, Anardil," Elrohir said, "I believe my brother holds something that belongs to you."

Anardil was puzzled, but went toward Elrohir anyway. By this time, the other Elves had helped Elladan from his horse, and, carrying Jeren, he approached Anardil. When Anardil saw the precious package Elladan held in his arms, his face softened for just a moment, but he recovered quickly.

However, always being a man of few words, he only said, "Welcome to Rivendell, Jeren."


	7. Crimes and Punishments

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Anardil, the hard Dunedain ranger, wanted to drop to his knees and weep at the sight of his battered daughter. He could barely see her, so swathed in blankets and quilts she was, but she looked as if she had been straying a bit too close to death's door for his liking. _And he had told her she would be safe at their place in the Angle! _Just as he had failed her mother—his sweet wife—he had failed his daughter. He had left Jeren alone, in a land barely settled with civilized folk, expecting her to take care of herself. Now here she was being brought to Imladris by Elladan and Elrohir, bruised and broken, having endured Eru knew what. Thank the Valar she had survived.

How he ached to take her into his arms. However, he had only been on his own two feet but a week himself, and needed a stick for support besides, so there was no hope that he would be able to carry her. The Elves had immediately begun to loosen the ties that bound her to Elladan's body, and Elladan handed the sobbing girl to his father, who immediately took her into the large, stone edifice that was their home. The best Anardil could do was limp sadly behind the Elves as fast as his weakened body would allow him to.

After what seemed like miles of hallways to the stumbling man, Anardil finally caught up to the entourage of Elves who had carried his daughter to the healing wards of Imladris. Elrond had dispatched all but his sons from Jeren's bedside, and was in the process of cutting away the bandages the twins had wound around her, before they had set out from the little house in the Angle.

Anardil made his way to stand beside her head. He stood on the opposite side of the bed from where Elrond was working over her, so that he would be out of the Elf lord's way. Elrohir quickly placed a chair behind the ranger's knees, and gently put his hand on Anardil's shoulder, to guide him to sit down. Anardil smiled, and nodded his thanks, sat down in the chair, and leant the stick against the wall at the head of Jeren's bed. Jeren watched her father with tears coursing down her cheeks, trying not to sob.

"Daughter, what in Valar's name befell you?" Anardil asked softly.

All Jeren could do was hiccup. She was beyond words with the pain. Seeing this, Anardil simply rested one arm on the bed, holding one of her hands in his, and with the other, smoothed her hair from her sweat-soaked forehead.

"It is all right," he soothed. "Do not answer for now. Worry not. Your Papa is here, and he will stay with you until you are better." His face was that of a very concerned parent, and his voice was soft and comforting, but full of fear for his child.

That was all it took, and she began crying with near hysteria. The fierce protectiveness of a father welled up in Anardil, making him want to take her into his arms and hold her like he did when she was a child, and had fallen and skinned a knee. This was so far beyond a skinned knee, and he would hurt her so badly were he even to touch her more than he was now, that he simply decided to weep with her.

"Could you do something for her pain, Father?" Elladan practically pleaded.

"I think he should not use the remedy I administered before," Elrohir commented dryly.

Elladan simply shot Elrohir a glance that reminded one of sharp knives, but said nothing.

"Yes, Elladan," Elrond replied.

Turning all his attention to the injured girl, he said, "Jeren, try hard to relax. This works very much better if you do so." With that, he placed his hand upon her forehead, resting his thumb across her glistening lashes, and closed his eyes. Jeren was trembling with pain, trying to remain calm, willing her sobs to cease. Elrond said nothing, but in a matter of seconds, Jeren's face relaxed, her eyes closed and her breathing evened out. Her tears ceased, and she seemed asleep. In fact, she was.

Everyone, Elrond included, breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard seeing someone, especially one as young and injured as Jeren, in so much excruciating pain. Elrond began his work once again, more slowly this time, pulling the bandages away from Jeren's tortured chest and shoulders.

Anardil reddened when Elrond exposed Jeren's body for all to see, but the sight of the long, stitched gash that ran between her breasts shocked him, and all he could do was stare at it. When he finally came back to himself, he turned his face away, not thinking it proper for a father to look upon his daughter in such a state of undress. Instead, he focused his attention upon Jeren's sleeping face, and asked for a damp cloth, that he may wash her clammy skin to comfort her. An assistant healer, being an Elf of keen hearing as all Elves were, shortly brought a bowl of cooling mint bath and a soft cloth for Anardil to use. Jeren's father began his task, gently washing his sleeping daughter's face, keeping himself occupied while the others did their work.

Elrond's face fell into grim lines as he examined the compound break of Jeren's clavicle. It was a clean break, and the wound was small, comparatively speaking. Still, it was an ugly sight, and the healing time would be extensive. The gash on her chest would complicate matters, for the usual binding for a broken clavicle could not be used at first, for it would cause too much tension on the stitches holding the cut between her breasts closed. The gash was healing nicely, for there was no infection in it and the stitches were holding strong. The twins had done everything correctly, but something had apparently gone wrong.

"All right," Elrond began, "now that she is calm, tell me exactly what happened to cause this—mess, for lack of a better description."

"I am sorry, Father," Elladan began, immediately shouldering the responsibility for the 'mess'. "I knew no other way to bind the set clavicle, with the gash in the location it was in. Elrohir and I bound her shoulders very tightly. Last night, she must have been having a nightmare, as humans will, and she suddenly sat straight up and for some reason, she threw her arms straight outward. We heard the bones snap, and she screamed—"

Elrond stopped his son with an upraised hand. "I get the idea," he said quietly. "Elladan," his father said in a lightly scolding tone, "you could have done nothing differently. This condition is impossible to treat in any other way. You did exactly as I would have done, under the circumstances. It was merely an unfortunate occurrence. These things sometimes happen, and there is nothing that can be done about it. Stop second-guessing your judgment. You did the right thing."

Elladan bowed his head slightly, and said, "Thank you, Father."

"And what about me, Father?" Elrohir asked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat, as that was his usual role at times like these. "Is that not the most beautiful of sewing techniques I have ever used?"

Bending down to peer at the stitched wound, Elrond glanced back up and quirked one eyebrow, saying, "_You_ did this, Elrohir? I was going to scold Elladan for not allowing you to stitch the injury."

Elrohir simply shook his head, and said, "You are so cruel, Father. You know that, do you not?"

Elrond laughed as he took up a cloth and began to sponge off Jeren's 'mess', as he had described it, and said, "I could not let the opportunity to _needle_ you pass me by," Elrohir."

"Valar, Father!" Elrohir groaned. "You are going to make me ill with your putrid puns!"

"Are you not in the best place to be ill, Elrohir?" Elrond asked with a grin.

Elladan simply breathed another sigh of relief. It was very good to be at home. He could let his father shoulder the responsibility for all of Middle Earth once more.

An hour and three glasses of smooth Elven wine later, Anardil was sitting on the veranda just outside the room in the healing ward in which Jeren was sleeping. Elrohir had persuaded him to retreat to the fresh air while Elrond and Elladan reset Jeren's clavicle, for it was neither a pleasant nor a pretty sight to witness. Elrohir had tried to get the ranger to eat a meal with him, but all Anardil wanted was a bottle and some information. The bottle needed to contain spirits of some kind, and the information needed to contain words concerning his daughter.

"I want details, Elrohir," Anardil said quietly. He didn't exactly slur the words, but he had already had enough to drink in too short a time. He and Elrohir were seated at a table in the middle of the veranda, which overlooked the valley—a breathtaking view, but neither noticed the sight before them.

"The details are much too unpleasant, Anardil," Elrohir replied. "You do not truly wish to hear them, and I truthfully, I do not wish to recall them."

"Elrohir, she is my daughter," Anardil said. He did not raise his voice, but the seriousness of his tone had increased. "She experienced it. The least I can do is listen to it."

"Listen to me, Anardil—" Elrohir started, trying to make the ranger see reason.

"No! You listen to me, Elrohir!" Anardil exclaimed loudly.

"Keep your voices down!" Elrond said sternly as he closed the door, exiting Jeren's room. He walked around the table to a vacant chair, pulled it away from the table and sat.

"Now, what is all the shouting about?" he asked. When neither Elf nor ranger spoke, Elrond simply shrugged and changed the subject.

"Jeren is sleeping peacefully still. Hopefully, she will continue to do so for several hours yet." He lifted the bottle of wine that sat on the table and squinted at it, trying to discern how much it still contained. Realizing that perhaps an inch—if that—graced the bottom of the bottle, he looked at Elrohir and smiled. Elrohir wrinkled his nose, and without saying anything, he rose and left the veranda, closing the door quietly as he left, in quest of another glass and a full bottle of wine for his father.

"Elrond," Anardil said quietly, "please, will you tell me what you know of what befell Jeren?"

"It is a terrible story, Anardil," Elrond replied. "Are you certain you wish to hear it?"

"No," he shook his head slightly. "I am not sure. In fact I know I do not. But my daughter suffered it, so I must hear it. She suffered it due to my neglect, and now I _will_ hear it. It is because of my sin of leaving her alone that she was almost killed, by the looks of things."

"I refuse to argue with you while you are in this state, Anardil," Elrond said, "but if you wish to know the details, I will not keep them from you." He looked the ranger in the eyes, seeming to make an attempt at judging the man's readiness of hearing of his daughter's treatment at the hands of the Orcs. Anardil returned his gaze. Knowing there would never be a good time to tell a father this sort of heartbreaking story, Elrond began.

"Elladan came upon the scene while there were ten Orcs in your house. Jeren was in the yard unconscious, and Elladan carried her to safety. The others from Imladris soon joined him, and together they slew those ten. To make a long story shorter, Jeren suffered a broken clavicle when, as she related to the twins, she tried to retrieve a pitchfork she was attempting to use as a weapon, from beneath her fallen mare. Said mare was down, but not dead, and Jeren was kicked. Now comes the difficult part for a father to hear."

Elrond rose, for this was a subject close to his heart, because one he held dear, who had suffered a fate quite similar to Jeren's, waited for him in the Undying Lands. He tried to keep his voice from trembling as he continued.

"Elladan said she has not spoken of it, but she was raped by the Orcs."

Anardil looked at Elrond quickly, a question unasked, tears springing into the ranger's eyes.

"Yes, more than one," Elrond answered him. "Elladan could tell when he performed his initial treatment of her, and when I examined her a short while ago, it was evident. She was raped repeatedly. I am sorry, Anardil. I know exactly how you feel."

"I doubt that, Elrond," Anardil said bitterly. "Have you a daughter you left to fend for herself in a desolate wilderness, with fiends running rampant across the countryside?" Anardil reached for the bottle of wine and poured the last little bit into his glass. He tipped it repeatedly and when too little emerged, he hurled the traitorous container from him, and listened as it crashed on the rocks below them somewhere distant.

When it was apparent that the flying missile struck no one, Elrond breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't be stitching anyone up within the next few minutes.

What could he say to the ranger's impassioned comment? Anardil was right. He really had nothing to compare this to. Yes, Orcs had abducted Elrond's wife, and yes, they had ravaged her. However, she had been a grown woman—his wife, not his daughter—and heavily guarded. All had been done to insure her safety, yet tragedy had befallen her. What could he say to the grieving man before him now? That it wasn't his fault? He would never believe it, even though it was true, at least in Elrond's eyes. Sixteen is young; and yes, Jeren is a female. Yet, she was well versed in self-defense, for Anardil would never have left her alone otherwise. However there were such things as fate and destiny, and no one ever said that these two things would always lead to pleasant occurrences. Unfortunately, Jeren's fate or destiny had been to experience unpleasant ones, at least in this case. And that could hardly be Anardil's fault, no matter what he thought. But to convince a grieving father of that would probably be an impossible undertaking. Elrond was determined not to try at the present time. Attempting to argue with a drunken human was a useless exercise, and it was one the Elf lord was much too weary to attempt, after spending hours in the healing halls.

Instead, he walked back to the table and sat down. He looked at the ranger, and Anardil turned his agonized eyes back to Elrond's own.

"How could I have allowed this to happen, Elrond?" he asked in a whisper. "How?"

_So much for not arguing with a drunken human._

"Did the Orcs ask your permission before they raided your homestead, Anardil?" Elrond asked, almost angrily, for he would have found the question posed by the ranger almost ludicrous, had the man not been so obviously tortured. "And _if_ they requested your leave to trespass, did you grant it? If you did not, then the situation was completely out of your control, and therefore you allowed _nothing_ to happen! Celebrian was traveling with several guards, Anardil. Several armed guards with centuries of experience, and she was taken by the Orcs and tortured for days! Whose fault was that? Did the guards prevent her fate?"

"Curse you, Elrond!" Anardil exclaimed. "You know exactly what I am asking you— "

"—And you know what I am saying to you!" Elrond interrupted him.

"And now I get to be the taskmaster, and tell the wayward children to keep their voices down," Elrohir stated, as he entered the veranda, balancing a goblet and a wine bottle in one hand, while closing the door with the other.

"Get your wise backside over here Elfling," Elrond said, leaning back in his chair, "and pour your thirsting sire a generous cup of wine. I find I need shoring up under the strain of attempting to talk sense into our fine ranger friend here."

"He seemed sensible enough when I left him, Father," Elrohir said, while raising one eyebrow. "What have you done to render him senseless while I have been gone?" Elrohir sat in the chair he had been seated in before, and removed the cork from the neck of the bottle. Grasping the stem of the glass he had retrieved for his father, he tipped the bottle and poured an ample amount into the bowl, then handed it to Elrond.

"I made the mistake of giving him the information you were withholding from him, Elrohir," Elrond said dourly. He thanked his son for the wine and lifted the glass in salute, then took a large swallow, savoring the taste on his tongue.

"Ah, that would do it, Father," Elrohir said.

"If the two of you are finished behaving like asses," Anardil said angrily, "I would appreciate being allowed to drown my sorrows in peace—alone, if you would not mind."

"But I do mind, Anardil," Elrond said, his face stony. "I have not finished behaving like an ass, as you have seen fit to call my conversation." Anardil had the grace to bow his head, somewhat abashed, for Elrond had been his savior more times than he could count over the years, and quite recently, as well.

"Forgive me, my lord," Anardil said quietly. "I have been most ill-natured and ungrateful. You have done much for me, and now for my daughter. I owe you my life, and hers. Do not think I will ever forget that."

"See that you do not, ranger," Elrond said. "Sometimes you forget to whom you speak, I think. I changed your great grandsire's great grandsire's nappies."

Elrohir made a choking sound, and managed to snort wine up his nose, which ended in a coughing and laughing fit. Elrond never missed an opportunity to slap one of his sons, so of course he whacked Elrohir between the shoulder blades several times to help him take in air once again.

Feigning concern, Elrond asked, "Are you breathing better now?"

"Yes, Father," Elrohir croaked, "but I am not sure that my back is not broken. Must you hit me so hard?"

"I merely wanted to ensure that all the wine was out of your air passages, Elrohir," Elrond said innocently.

"Of course, Father," Elrohir said hoarsely, but with skepticism. "Thank you."

Turning back to the ranger, Elrond became serious once more.

"Anardil, you can blame yourself for what happened to Jeren, but it will change nothing," Elrond said quietly. "What if you _had_ been there? Who is to say that fate would have played out for the better? Jeren may have been killed outright, and you as well. Would that have been better? I think not."

"All I can think of is my little girl," Anardil said, his voice breaking, "being beaten and used. She was scared, and I was not there for her. I have never been there when my family has needed me."

Elrohir picked up the wine bottle and poured himself a glass, and just before he set the bottle back down, Anardil placed his glass on the table in front of him, silently requesting a refill. Elrohir complied with the ranger's wishes.

"I should never have taken a wife," Anardil said sadly. "It was only heartache for her, and then for Jeren."

"They had no happy times with you?" Elrond asked skeptically.

"They were few and far between," Anardil answered, as if his mind was in a dream of long ago.

"Somehow, I doubt that, knowing Jennah," Elrohir said with a grin.

"You know nothing of it, Elrohir," Anardil answered him dryly.

Elrohir scowled and said, "No, my friend. It is you who no nothing of it. I knew Jennah perhaps better than you know. I knew her before you did, and I can assure you, as soon as she saw you, she saw no other." Elrohir could still feel the sting to his pride, when he realized his charm would not win an afternoon with the Dunedain girl, especially after the ranger, Anardil, had come into the settlement.

Anardil looked shocked. "She never said a word about knowing you. Are you telling me the truth of it, Elrohir?"

"Have I ever lied to you Anardil?" Elrohir asked.

Anardil chuckled and said, "How should I answer that Elrohir? Truthfully?"

"I mean about anything important." Elrohir answered in exasperation.

"The point is," Elrond interrupted the senseless argument, "Jennah never regretted her decision to wed you, and she would be heartbroken—or, more likely, furious—to know that you regretted yours."

"The point is," Anardil echoed, "regretting something in hindsight is one thing. Having sense enough not to do a foolish thing in the first place is a very different thing."

Elrohir shook his head in frustration. "Anardil, my friend; how can you be saying these things, when the fruit of your marriage to Jennah is right in the next room? Jeren is a beautiful girl! She's smart—and has a very smart tongue, I might add. Her common sense is what kept her alive, Anardil. Your pride in her should know no bounds. How can you for one moment regret the very thing which gave you such a precious gift?"

"You wanted details before—I'll give you some details. She had been beaten and raped, and awoke to seven strangers in her bedroom—Elves, no less—as sick as a human can possibly be, and she took it in stride. She endured Elladan and I taking care of her injuries. Males, mind you, assaulting her deepest sensibilities, since most of her wounds were in very delicate areas of her body. I won't say it was completely without complaint, but she endured well, considering the circumstances. All we had with us to dull her pain when we stitched that gash on her chest was Miruvor, and it took quite a bit of it and quite a lot of time for it to take effect. I started stitching when her words were so slurred as to be almost unintelligible, but she was still in severe pain when I began sewing. She was steadfast, Anardil. She made no sound. Her tears were falling upon my hands; it was hurting her so badly. I finally resorted to stitching quickly, hoping to overcome her with the pain, and it fortunately worked, and she finally swooned, thank Illuvator."

Elrohir took a sip of his wine and turned his attention to his father. "That is why you thought Elladan had stitched that gash, Father. I was pushing her to faint, so I quickened my pace, knowing it would hurt worse. I hoped it would render her unconscious. I felt like a warg doing so, but I believe it was worth it when the plan finally succeeded. While she was out, we set her clavicle, wrapped her up good, and tended her other hurts. She couldn't protect her modesty so fiercely while she was under the influence of the Miruvor. Oh, by the way, do not even mention the name of our Elven drink to her. It made her horribly sick the following day. Terrible headache, upset stomach—you know how it affects humans, Father."

Anardil gave a short laugh and said, "You do not wonder why I sit here caressing a bottle of wine, do you? I, too, detest the mere mention of—that drink."

"And you sound exactly like Jeren when you say so," Elrohir added with a laugh.

"Well," Elrond said as he rose, "I have a patient to see to. Even if she is not yet awake, I wish to look in on her and make sure that all is well with that clavicle. It is a shame the set did not hold and the bones broke through the skin, but as I said, sometimes these things just happen. We do not have control over all things, and they do not always go the way we would wish them to." He kept his ageless eyes trained on the gray ones of the ranger as he spoke, hoping the man was really listening to what he was saying. Anardil did not look away, but neither did he seem to agree with the lord of Imladris.

Elrond sighed, and tousled Elrohir's hair on his way past his son's chair as he left the veranda. Watching father and son carry on in such a way made Anardil smile in spite of his tortured mood. Elrond and Elrohir both hada way about them that made you want to hug them one minute and strangle them the next._ They were so much alike; it could strike fear into a man's heart._

"I wish he wouldn't do that," Elrohir said, smiling in mock anger, after his father had closed the door. "Why must fathers do these annoying things to their children?"

Anardil leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out before him, placing his laced fingers behind his head.

"Because they can," he said.


	8. There is a Child in Imladris

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Elrond's Elven feet tread silently over to the sleeping girl's bed. He gazed down on her, his healer's eyes scanning her arms and hands for signs that her circulation was healthy. He touched her hand and found it warm, confirming the fact that all was well. Jeren did not stir, which was not surprising. Her sleep had been disturbed the previous night by nightmares and nightmarish pain, not to mention an hours-long ride. She needed a nice lengthy sleep to try and regain a bit of her strength.

The sight of her was heart wrenching. Her face was adorned with purple patches and swelling, some of the bruises now turning off-color hues of yellow and green. Elves bruised, to be sure, but somehow they never turned these ugly rainbow-like colors that mortals did. But that was neither here nor there, the girl was not vying to win some contest of fairness, nor did she need to. She was fair as she was—even battered and bruised, with lumps, cuts and scrapes. Each injury she should wear with pride, for each was a banner of victory and beautiful in its own way.

He glanced at the cut near her left eye. She was lucky with that—just a hair closer, and she may have lost that eye. Elrohir had done a very fine job in his stitching of the wound. Elrond supposed he should praise him. Elrohir did deserve it, after all. However, his son could be so insufferably full of himself, the temptation to withhold accolades was great at times. Smiling to himself, Elrond turned from Jeren's bedside and made his way to the cabinets, which housed the healing herbs and supplies, he used in the healing halls. He had been meaning to take inventory for a while now. It would not do to be short of supplies when an emergency arose. Also, he would be near in case his patient awoke. He would not wish her to be alone. It may frighten her.

She had been frightened enough lately. Quite enough.

Jeren's eyes slowly flickered open. At first, she couldn't remember where she was. She knew she wasn't at home. She wasn't in the wilderness with Elladan or Elrohir. Thinking of the twins, where was Elladan?

She closed her eyes again, because she was still so horribly sleepy. She still hurt pretty badly, but it was nothing compared to what it had been before. She opened her eyes again and was startled, because there looming over her was the Elven lord, Elrond. She had not noticed before, but he wore the most beautiful robe of a rich gray brown, the fabric thick and lustrous. She wondered if he would mind very much if she felt its texture.

"How are you feeling, young lady?" Elrond asked.

"That's what Elrohir calls me," Jeren said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" Elrond asked kindly.

"Elrohir calls me 'young lady' most of the time," she explained.

"Ah," Elrond said with a nod and a smile. Clasping his hands behind his back he walked a few steps away from her and stopped, turning around to face her. "Elrohir has quite a way with the ladies, does he not?"

"Yes," Jeren replied, "he has quite a way of making them cry."

Elrond drew his eyebrows together in a frown. "Indeed? Perhaps I should speak with him about that."

"Perhaps you should," Jeren agreed. Then feeling somewhat ashamed of herself, she added, "However, he was very tender in his treatment of me."

"Well," Elrond said, hoping for Jeren's benefit that he sounded relieved, "at least he has redeemed himself somewhat. And Elladan? Was he also churlish to you?"

"No sir" Jeren said, adoration apparent in her words. "He was most efficient as a healer, and he tried very hard to put me at ease—without making me cry."

"I am very glad to hear that at least one of my sons learned the manners I attempted to teach them," Elrond said with dignity.

Jeren smiled at being able to give high marks to one of her constant companions of the past few days.

"Elladan is indeed a son in whom you can take great pride," she said approvingly.

They both looked towards the door when it opened suddenly, and Elrond's wayward son entered the room. Anardil remained outside on the veranda, not yet finished drinking himself as far into oblivion as he wished to be, apparently.

"Speaking of oafish persons," Elrond commented snidely, "here he comes now."

Elrohir's brows knit together in confusion—and wariness—at his father's remark as he'd entered Jeren's room.

"What are you speaking of, Father?" Elrohir asked with uneasiness. Without waiting for his father to answer, he greeted Jeren; glad to see she was awake. "You look somewhat better, young lady. I trust my eyes are not deceiving me?"

"No thanks to you, _Elfling_," his father chimed in; in a voice he knew would best embarrass his son. "It is a wonder her jaw was not broken, Elrohir. She has another nasty bruise where you rendered her unconscious, according to Elladan's information."

Elrohir actually blushed. Jeren thought she had seen it all in the past few days, but this was finally something worth viewing that wasn't at her expense for a change!

"Could I explain?" Elrohir asked hurriedly.

"I deem explanations unnecessary," Elrond said. "Bruises speak louder than words, and speaking of words, I obviously need to have a few with you, Elrohir. It appears your bedside manner is lacking, and you need remedial work in this area. Be sure to report to me here every day at sunrise for the next week, and we will work until morning meal, to improve this aspect of your role as a healer."

The look of complete incredulity on Elrohir's face had Jeren laughing, even though it was causing her great pain. Elrond's smile was one of victory at having succeeded in bringing just a small bit of justice into Jeren's unbalanced world. Elrohir was having trouble keeping his mouth closed.

"Elrohir," Elrond said with authority, "go clean yourself up and put yourself to bed. Your brother—the good Elfling—has already done so. Now do as I say."

Elrohir gave his father a look that bordered on disrespect. Noting the Elf lord's quirked eyebrow, he wisely said nothing; he merely closed his eyes as if counting quietly to himself, then silently exited the room.

"I believe I spoke with him well about making young ladies cry, do you not think so, Jeren?" Elrond asked conspiratorially.

"I believe you handled Elrohir better than probably anyone else could, Lord Elrond," Jeren replied with a smile.

"Good," he replied. "I can see in your face that you are very fatigued, and I would wager in not a small bit of pain. I am not wrong, am I?"

"No, you are not wrong," Jeren said tiredly. It amazed Elrond how the girl could call up such fortitude at will, and if one was not trained to notice such things as fatigue and pain, one would never have known that she was masking them.

"Jeren," he said quietly, "I will be giving you healing sleep quite a bit over the next several days. It is a deep sleep, like that which I gave you when you were first brought in. Even when you believe you are much better and no longer in need of it, please do not fight me. I have only your best interests at heart, and this sleep not only heals the body, it heals the mind somewhat as well. You do understand, do you not?"

"I do, Lord Elrond," she said sincerely. "Any aid you give to me, I will not chafe under. I know I need much healing, both inside and out. I will be most grateful for whatever you will do for me."

"Good," Elrond said, smiling. "Now. Close your eyes, Jeren, and relax. Think peaceful thoughts and when you next awaken, we will have a meal for you. Sleep now. Pleasant dreams."

Elrond placed his slender hand upon Jeren's brow, and she relaxed almost immediately. He kept his hand in place just a bit longer, allowing some of his healing essence to channel from his very being into her tortured soul. He knew from past experience that this would never take away the bitter memories of a few days ago, but it would help dilute the pain and panic that they brought with them. The fact that she was humankind and not Elvenkind would also help; for mortals were much more resilient to this type of mental injury than were the Firstborn. That, and the fact that she was so young and obviously strong-willed, would be of great help in her overcoming—or at least dealing—with the trauma.

He finally released his hold on the now sleeping girl and made his way again outside to the veranda. There he found Anardil asleep, slumped over the table. The ranger was a sad sight. His head was lying on one of his arms; the other hand occupied holding the neck of the now spilled second bottle of smooth Elven wine. Elrond went closer and laid his hand on Anardil's back, to rouse him, intending to send him to his room to sleep off his drunken stupor. Before he vigorously shook the ranger, for he knew it would take some doing to wake the man, he glanced at his face. The tears had not yet dried there. Somehow he knew it was not the drink alone that had elicited the man's weeping. No doubt, it had not helped; but too much wine or not, any father would be weeping to see his daughter in such a state as Jeren was now—especially if that father blamed himself—and any father in Anardil's shoes would, despite what Elrond had said earlier.

Elrond shook Anardil roughly and helped him to rise after he had answered groggily. When it was apparent that Anardil was not going to regain enough of his faculties to be able to walk to his room unaided, Elrond pulled the ranger's arm up around his neck and over his shoulders, supporting most of Anardil's weight. He guided them both first through the door, then through Jeren's room and finally through the halls of his home. As soon as they reached Anardil's room, Elrond dumped the ranger upon the bed in a most 'un-lordly' fashion. He pulled the man's boots off and, giving a mocking salute, the Elf lord left, shutting the door a bit more loudly than he had planned to.

_Elrond would never understand human men as long as he lived—and that had already been close to seven thousand years._

Jeren awoke to her father's face gazing down at her. He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, and had her hand in his, much like he had been before Lord Elrond had made her go to sleep the first time, when she had been in so much pain.

"Papa?" she queried. "How long did I sleep?"

"You are asking the wrong person," he replied, "for I slept much longer than I had planned to, and I do not rightly know the length of time I was abed. All I do know is that it is tomorrow and it is morning."

"Oh." was her only reply.

"Do you feel any better this morning, Jeren?" her father asked her with concern.

"I am not sure, Papa," she replied. "Lord Elrond put me into what he referred to as a 'healing sleep', and it puts me out cold. I do not remember dreaming, nor do I have any notion as to how long I have been sleeping. All I do have a notion about is that I am very hungry and in need of a chamber pot very badly." The last little bit of her statement was made little above a whisper, for it embarrassed her to speak openly about such things, even with her father—but her need was great.

Anardil rose from his chair, stopping to retrieve his walking stick he had leant against the wall at the head of Jeren's bed, and went to fetch someone to help with Jeren's two needs. Shortly, a beautiful Elven lady came gliding up to Jeren's bed and began to uncover her, intending to help her rise.

"My name is Naith, and I am an assistant to Lord Elrond here in his house. May I assist you with your call to nature?" Naith's musical voice radiated good will, and Jeren responded with delight. "I will help you rise and walk with you slowly to that door just over there." Naith gestured to a door back to the left of Jeren's bed, one she could not see from where she lay. "Are you ready to try and get up now?"

"Yes, and thank you," Jeren replied with a smile.

Naith helped the trussed-up girl to slowly sit up, noting instantly Jeren's blinking and unfocused eyes when dizziness threatened to overwhelm her.

"We will take it slowly, Jeren," she said soothingly. "Worry not, I will not rush you."

"That would be fine," Jeren said with a smirk, "but if I take my time, I may just disgrace myself—and the floor as well."

Naith laughed, and Jeren did not think she had ever heard such a beautiful voice in all of her life. She had been right; Elven women were very beautiful. She refused to compare herself with them, for there was no comparison. Besides, she had other more pressing things upon her mind.

It did not take long to accomplish her goal, and in no time at all, Naith had Jeren tucked back into bed, relieved beyond words.

"Thank you very much, Naith," Jeren said sincerely.

"Think nothing of it, my dear," Naith replied sweetly. "I will come visit you again later. In the meantime, if you need other things of a personal nature, simply have someone call me, and I will come to you; or I will find someone else who you will be comfortable with."

"It is such a relief, I must tell you," Jeren admitted, "not to have those two sons of Elrond helping me the way you just did. I thought I would die from the embarrassment."

Naith closed her eyes and grimaced. "Oh my poor Jeren," she said with understanding, "tell me what you are saying is not so. You have my deepest sympathies. I am sure they did not make it an easy thing to endure. Especially Elrohir."

"I fear I tell you truly," Jeren said solemnly. "And you are very right in naming Elrohir the worst of the two."

"Well, you can now rest easy," Naith replied, "I will see to this simple detail. So simple, yet so important to us ladies, is it not?"

"Yes," Jeren said, smiling. She certainly liked her new friend. She wondered if all the Elves here in Imladris were as friendly as Naith had turned out to be.

Naith bid her goodbye, but Jeren was not alone for long, for Anardil soon returned, with Elrohir behind him laden with a tray of breakfast for Jeren. Elrohir was dressed in the same type of beautiful robe that Lord Elrond had been dressed in yesterday, and Jeren surmised that it must denote that they were on duty as healers or some such thing as that.

"Your breakfast, Miss," Elrohir said formally, as he sat the tray down on a table beside the bed opposite the side where Anardil had been sitting. He went to a cupboard that stood near the door, finding three large pillows with which to prop her into a sitting position. After he had her sitting comfortably, he placed the tray on her lap, uncovered the dishes and set the eating utensils within easy reach.

"May I assist you, Miss?" he asked, again with exceeding formality. "Or perhaps you would prefer your father to help you dine?" His face was unreadable, and he did not smile or try to jest with her at all. It made Jeren uneasy.

"No," she said vaguely, "I can do it myself."

Elrohir had to bite back a remark, that he would really like to see her try, with her arms tied to her sides almost to her elbows, but he had just had a stern lecture from his father. If he had learned anything in his long life, it was that his Elf lord father tended to be where you least expected him to be at any given moment. At this point in his day, he felt not like tempting fate by blurting out what would be the obvious—but according to his father, the wrong—thing to say.

"Very well, Miss," he said aloofly. "Simply call if you require anything else." With that he bowed and left her to eat—with or without help.

Jeren was a bit disheartened when she realized that she couldn't eat on her own, but she was too hungry to be stubborn about it. She allowed Anardil to feed her, and she ate every last bit that had been brought on the tray. As soon as all was gone and cleared away, Jeren lay back, satisfied at last. Now it was time to ask a few serious questions of her father.

"What happened, Papa?" Jeren asked. "What kept you? I was afraid something dire had befallen you."

"What befell me," he said dryly, "was my horse, when he was shot out from under me by a bandit, and I was not quick enough to roll away before he landed on me. He was killed, and he damaged my knee pretty badly. Luckily, I was not alone at the time, or I would have been killed right along with my horse. My comrades brought me here to Imladris, and Lord Elrond put my leg to rights."

"Oh—sounds like that hurt," she said with a frown.

"Look who is telling who about pain," Anardil said with a smile and raised brows.

Jeren's face fell, and she looked away. Anardil wondered at the sudden change in her demeanor.

"What is it, Jeren?" he asked, frowning. "What are you thinking about?"

"I failed you, Papa," she replied. "Orcs overran our place; they ransacked the house; killed Jones. And I was stupid and got myself badly hurt by her when I panicked." Jeren's face turned further away, and her voice trembled as she continued. "They—I let them—I could not keep them from—"

"Daughter!" Anardil said harshly. His face had hardened, and his voice was stern. "Speak not of your failure to me! I will not hear such a thing from you." He paused momentarily, attempting to gain control of his tone. Shouting at her was not his intent. Much more quietly he continued. "It is I who failed you. I was not there when you needed me. You are alive, thank the Valar, and as far as I am concerned, you facing those animals alone took more courage than I ever could have asked of you." Anardil took Jeren's hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing it tenderly, before placing it back on the sheets beneath his own.

"Jeren, I am sorry," he continued, his voice quavering. "There are not enough words in our language to tell you how much I regret leaving you on your own."

"Papa, don't!" Jeren whispered forcefully. "It was not your fault. I do not blame you. You have important work to do; I understand that."

"Nothing is more important to me than you are, daughter," he said, tears filling his eyes. "When you wed, and have children of your own, you will understand what I am feeling. A parent feels every cut, every scrape, every broken bone their child suffers. If their child is afraid or sad or angry, their father feels it as if the emotion is theirs as well. Just seeing you here before me hurts my heart so badly I can hardly breathe, Jeren. I am elated that you are safe, and alive, and here with me now. I know not what I would do had you not lived." He bowed his head before her, so she could not see the tears that had slipped from his eyes and that were now sliding down his face and hitting the floor.

"I _did_ live, Papa," Jeren soothed. "And soon I will be healed, and we can continue our lives. All will be well, you will see."

Anardil wiped the tears from his face, then looked up at his daughter and smiled.

"You know," he said gravely, "I do not deserve to have a daughter as brave and forgiving as you are, Jeren. There are many things I need your forgiveness for, daughter, and you know of what I am speaking. Many were the times when I was too hard on you, and you did not complain. You have every right to hate me, Jeren. Every right."

"Papa," Jeren said, confused, "I know not of what you speak. You are a wonderful father. You taught me well—everything I have ever learned I owe to you. Everything I am is because of you. If you were hard on me, it was to make me see the importance of what it was that you were teaching me. I understood it then, and I understand it now. Do not torture yourself about things that have no meaning."

Anardil rose and bent over his daughter, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you, Jeren," he said. "I appreciate your kind words. You are a very sweet daughter." He took up his walking stick and gave her hand a final pat. "I am off for now to flex this knee of mine. I must follow Lord Elrond's directives if I am to heal at a favorable pace. I will be back later to see you. For now, you should rest. I love you, my daughter."

"I love you, Papa," Jeren said with a smile, trying to hide her amazement. She could count on two fingers the number of times she could remember her father saying those three little words. "Do not flex yourself too much."

Anardil simply smiled one last time before he left the room.

Jeren sighed, saddened to see her father so disheartened. It made her mood gloomy, and she wished not to be unhappy any more. She also did not wish to be alone with nothing to occupy her time. This gave her an idea.

"Elrohir," she called, "are you still about?" She could not see him from where she was, but there were partitions throughout the healing halls, so he could be here without her seeing him.

"I am coming, Miss," she heard him answer from somewhere close by.

Jeren wondered what exactly had gotten into Elrohir this morning. Why had he taken to calling her 'Miss' and being so formal about everything? She was soon going to find out, because she was going to ask him right now.

Elrohir approached Jeren's bed and stopped before it with a bow.

"At your service, Miss," he said with great dignity.

"Elrohir," Jeren said with frustration, "what is wrong with you?"

"Why, whatever do you mean, Miss?" he asked as if he was surprised by the question.

"You know exactly what I mean, Elrohir," she said, beginning to feel angry. "All this calling me 'Miss' and bowing to me; did you fall out of bed last night and land on your head? You are acting with lunacy today."

Elrohir wanted so badly to rise to her baiting, but he held his tongue, as a good Elfling should. Which turned out to be a good thing, for Lord Elrond chose that particular moment to open the door to the healing halls and walk over to Jeren's bedside.

"Good morning, Jeren," Elrond said, "I trust this assistant healer is conducting himself with proper deportment this morning?"

"I suppose _this assistant healer _is," Jeren replied with a sour look on her face.

"That is good!" Elrond was practically beaming with affected pride. "Elrohir, your duty is over for this morning. Good work; thank you for your attention. Same time tomorrow."

"As you wish, Father dear," Elrohir said. He smiled quite prettily, if not a little falsely, bowed, and exited the room, before Elrond could change his mind.

"So Jeren," Elrond said, the smile still on his face, "did my speaking with Elrohir go as well as I planned?"

"Well, sir," Jeren said hesitatingly, "he is still obnoxious, but in another way completely."

Elrond knit his brows together.

"Yes? How so?" he asked.

"He has gone in the opposite direction," she said. "His formality is almost too much to bear. And if he calls me 'Miss' once more, I am liable to scream at him."

Elrond chuckled at her annoyance. "So he has gone completely the other direction, is that correct?" he asked.

Jeren nodded her head. "Yes, and it is sickening to behold."

"Well, I shall think on this small problem, and by this afternoon, I shall have it solved." Elrond winked at her. "We will get him yet. You will see."

Elrond's conscience was giving him a nudge now and then, for it knew as well as he did that Elrohir did not deserve any punishment for his behavior towards Jeren. Elladan had explained all that went on in their care of the girl; how he had tried to use kindness to persuade her to allow them to tend to her, but it was not until Elrohir had gotten verbally rough with her that she finally acquiesced. And Elrohir had only hit her as a quick solution to ending her torment when her clavicle had become unset. Elrohir had done only what was necessary for Jeren's own welfare. However, the part of the Elven lord that was so like his contrary son, would not allow him to scrap this most delightful of pranks. Besides, it was doing his patient a world of good. _Was that not worth Elrohir's pain? Of course it was!_

"Lord Elrond," Jeren said, "I like you very much. You are a blend of both of the twins. You are nice like Elladan, but you have mischief in you too—like Elrohir does. The best of both of them, you might say."

"Why thank you, Jeren," Elrond said with a wink. "I like you very much too. I find you have a good head for conspiracy, and one needs a bit of intrigue in one's life, do you not think so—especially if it is at Elrohir's expense?"


	9. What to do About Jeren?

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

After Elrond's discussion with Jeren about Elrohir's behavior, the Elf lord again cast Jeren into a deep healing sleep. He sat on the edge of her bed this time, placing both of his hands on the sides of her head, his palms over her ears, his thumbs closing her eyes. Before she drifted off to sleep, she asked him why he was doing it differently this time.

"I prefer variety in my life, Jeren," he replied in answer to her question. "No other particular reason. Perhaps a bit of the dramatic, as well. It piqued your interest, did it not?" His smile was sly.

Jeren smiled. "That it did, sir."

"Hush now, young lady," he whispered. "Go to sleep."

She closed her eyes, and with a smile still on her lips, she fell quietly into sleep. That was exactly how he wished her to be. Smiling. The more positive the thoughts in her mind as she left consciousness, the more positive would be the essence left there as she slept. His hands drifted down her face and stopped over her injured clavicle, where he placed one of his palms atop the other, leaving them lightly resting there. Again, this was not going to heal the injury, merely boost it, as it were, towards a swifter healing. Lastly, he let one of his hands fall away and rest in his lap, the other he let drift till it rested over her heart, symbolically placing a healing kiss there. _You have a strong heart, young Jeren, yet I give it a bit of attention as well. You will need it, I fear, before all is said and done._

The healing sleep was doing her much good, but in a way it was stalling the inevitable. She had yet to mention, at least in his presence, her ordeal with the Orcs. She would not be able to deny what happened to her indefinitely. In all likelihood, it was still too soon. She was in a new place, surrounded by new people, and had many things to occupy her mind, so it was understandable that she would not have the incident foremost in her thoughts at the present. However, he knew it was unwise to allow her to bury it so completely, and he wondered if she had made mention of it to anyone. He hadn't the heart to bring it up to Anardil, to see if perhaps she had mentioned it to him. He had quizzed Elrohir earlier, and had been told that Jeren had not said a thing about her defilement to him either. Elladan had yet to show his face this morning. Elrond thought about going and routing him from his bed. That was another privilege fathers had, and in Elrond's opinion, it was one not exercised quite fully enough.

Getting back to Jeren's problem, the Elf lord couldn't help but regret in some ways, his extensive use of the healing sleep in Jeren's case. When he overwhelmed her being with his power, so that her mind could be used to heal her body somewhat, it left her sleeping mind dreamless. Dreams were one of the mortals' ways of working through their problems, whether they were aware of the phenomenon or not. These healing sleeps were double-edged swords for Jeren. They were giving her body the time it needed to heal. They also allowed her mind the respite it needed from the nightmares she had been experiencing—and would most likely continue to experience—as her mind began to help her cope with the pain and terror of her ordeal. She needed the time, for her mental wounds were still raw and bleeding. However, if she continued to bury the incident, which was certainly a natural reaction however misguided, the consequences could be very sad indeed. Using the healing sleep unfortunately took away the nightmares, which further removed the incident from Jeren's mind. This allowed her to more completely tuck it away in the darker and dustier corners of her mind, where she did not care to venture often. It was a vicious circle and a choice he had to make for her. However, at the present time, her physical health had to be regained, before her mental health could be given the full attention it deserved. There was nothing else to be done for it. This was the way it had to be. Soon enough she would be called upon to face her inner demons. It would just be helpful were she to try and face them in the light of day, and not only rely upon nightmares to work her way through the fear and despair. Soon enough the day would come. He only hoped that it would come in a way of her choosing, and not be a waking nightmare brought on by a chance word, or a sudden sound or movement. Those types of mental collapses were devastating, not only for the one enduring them, but also for the ones having to see someone they love caught up in the terror of them.

Elrond rose from Jeren's bed, straightened her covers and bent to drop a light kiss on her brow. She seemed so young. Sixteen she was, but she seemed much younger. Another Dunedain lass. The Elf lord wondered what her fate would be now. Would Anardil even allow the girl to stay alone at their place in the Angle, _if_ she would agree to stay? More than likely she would be fostered out to another Dunedain family, some kindred no matter how distant. Estel would probably have a great deal of say in the matter, considering Aragorn was the Chieftain now. Elrond wondered how he would feel about having them take Jeren away from Imladris. The Elf lord was finding he was becoming quite fond of the girl, and she hadn't been here but a very short while.

_Perhaps it would be better were she to go elsewhere. It would be just what he needed to do—get attached to another mortal. What foolishness. _

Having seen his patient safely to sleep, Elrond decided it was indeed well past time for Elladan to greet the day_. _With a sly grin on his face, he made his way though the familiar corridors of his home and to thewing that housed the family in the Last Homely House. He found the proper room and paused for a moment outside the door—listening just long enough to make certain his son was alone. It would not do for a father to intrude where he was not expected. Hearing nothing, he didn't bother to knock, for that would only give away the surprise. He opened the door quietly, as only an Elf father who wishes not to be detected can, and walked silently over to the bed, where his sleeping son lay.

Elladan slept on his back, his hair unbraided, a strand caught in the corner of his mouth. Elrond stood and looked at the perfection that was his son. If only Elrohir would be still long enough that a father could gaze upon him for a time as well. It was as if only yesterday the two squalling infants emerged from their mother and were both cradled at her breast but for an instant, before they were then toddling on their four little legs, then running on four strong ones. They then stood tall on four feet, and were continuing to do so still, and would forevermore, Eru willing. Ah well, life ever marches on.

He had been so caught up in his reverie that he hadn't noticed when Elladan's glassy-eyed sleep had turned into focused-eyed wakefulness.

"Father, you should really find some new hobbies," Elladan said sleepily as he stretched. "When you must watch your children sleep, it bodes not well for the health of your mind."

Elrond lifted the covers slightly away from the form of his son, glancing quickly beneath.

"You should really clothe yourself when you sleep, son," he said with a frown. "What if we were beset by Orcs in the night, and you had to run in such a condition through the halls, and then through the grounds for all to witness your beauty? I would imagine the strapping on of your weapons would be painful at best."

"Father," Elladan whined, "beset by Orcs? Within the borders of Imladris? I truly do fear for your mind now. And besides, you know as well as I do, Elves care not a bit about the nudity of others. Why do your bring such a triviality as this up to me now?" Then as if it suddenly occurred to him, he added, "The strapping on of weapons?"

"Oh Elladan," Elrond feigned fussing, "it seems I must fabricate sins for you, for otherwise I have nothing to chastise you for! It is exceedingly boring to parent you properly at times!"

Elladan laughed and then was shocked when his father attacked him with tickling fingers.

"Father stop!" he yelled as he tried desperately to defend his ribs from his sire. "What has gotten into you?" he gasped when finally the Elf lord ceased his juvenile behavior.

"There is a child in Imladris, Elladan, and it is your fault she is here!" Elrond declared. "So you must endure the consequences of her presence. Have you any idea how long it has been since a child has graced the halls of our home?"

Elladan thought about this for a moment, then realization dawned on his face.

"Estel?" he answered.

"Exactly," Elrond returned. "Over forty years, Elladan. Aragorn has been among the rangers for the past twenty and does not visit here often any more; so Imladris is bereft of young ones once again, at least until now. I have a mind to tickle you at least once a day until Jeren is healed and on her way again." Elrond paced to the window, yanking the drapes aside quickly, flooding the room with the midmorning sun. Elladan gasped and covered his eyes with his arms.

"Why must you torture me? You are such a mean Elf," Elladan whined with a pout. "Why does having a young one here irritate you so much? I only did what you would have wanted me to do, Father. Is that not true?"

"Oh I suppose that it is," Elrond said irritably, when in truth, he was anything but irritated. "Elladan, I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris, am I not?"

Elladan gave his Father a look that indicated that the Elf lord was beginning to truly scare his son.

"Yes, Father. You are and have ever been the Lord of Imladris, Elrond."

"And as Elrond, the Lord of Imladris, have I not always been seen as a formidable and an exacting sort of Elf?"

"Yes, Father," Elladan agreed, somewhat eased by his father's apparent slow return to sanity.

"And this morning," Elrond continued, "what have you observed of my behavior? Would you have been able to describe me in either of those two ways?"

"No, father, I do not believe those two words would quite describe you this morning," Elladan admitted truthfully.

"And what two words might you replace them with, Elladan?" Elrond could not wait to hear the words his son might use. _This should be good_.

"I cannot even begin to describe your behavior this morning, Father," Elladan said with a grin. "And even were I to think of any words, I would never be so foolish as to utter them in your presence. You see, Father, you did not raise a fool here!"

"Well then I will tell _you_!" Elrond said forcefully. "My behavior is childish and juvenile! And do you know why it is such? Because there is a child here in Imladris, and when there is a child in Imladris, it makes me feel young again. It feels as if Tuile* has arrived every day that she is here. It renews the valley and everyone in it. And then when she leaves, Hrive* will descend once again. And stay. Until I forget that a child has been here and life becomes dull once again, and the regular seasons then take up where they left off. So, you brought her here, you simply must prepare yourself to reap the rewards for your efforts."

He walked back over to Elladan's bed and looked down at his son. "Are you going to rise, or shall I come in there after you?" he asked threateningly.

"I am rising!" Elladan said, as his actions began matching his words. He reached for a robe that he had draped over a chair that sat by a small table near the foot of his bed. He flopped into the chair, leaning back in it and stretching his legs out before him.

"How is Jeren today?" he asked. "I suppose she was very happy to see Anardil."

Elrond joined his son, seating himself in the other chair at the table where Elladan sat.

"I did not witness their meeting after she awoke," he admitted, "though I do assume all went well. She seems in good spirits today. She ate her morning meal quite heartily, Elrohir reported, but tired quickly, so I returned her into a healing sleep."

"She will need much of it," Elladan observed more to himself than to his father. A sudden idea struck him. "Elrohir reported? You make it sound as if he is assisting in the Healing Halls today, Father." Elladan could not keep a slight smirk from his voice. He could not remember the last time Elrohir assisted in the Healing Halls, except when Elrond punished him for some misdeed he had done.

"He has not already found his way into trouble with you has he Father?" Elladan asked in disbelief.

Elrond breezed past the question as if it weren't even asked. He leaned his elbows on the table. "Tell me, Elladan, has Jeren mentioned her rape to you at all?"

Temporarily thrown off the scent, Elladan replied, "No she has not. Only as I told you before, when she had the—whatever you would call it. It was as a dream, but she was awake. She was not aware at first, but slowly became so. It was as if she was reliving the entire thing. A very heartbreaking thing to witness. It was as if it was occurring again, right before Elrohir and me, but we could do nothing to rescue her—our hands were tied, and all we could do was watch."

Elrond's eyes met his son's. "Yes, it is a heart-wrenching thing to bear witness to Elladan."

"I am sorry, Father," Elladan began, "I meant not to—"

Elrond smiled and waved his hand gently. "No apologies, Elladan. I simply sympathize with you, I do not chastise you. But getting back to Jeren, have there been any times when she has discussed it with you?"

"No," he answered, "and the time I brought it up, she ordered me out of her house."

Elrond chuckled. "Yes? And when was this?"

Elladan smiled as well. "I was trying different tactics to get her to allow us to tend to her injuries. I finally resorted to telling her exactly the truth. The Orcs had damaged her when they raped her, they were dirty beyond belief, and if she did not allow us to tend to her she would become infected. I assured her she did not wish for an infection in that particular part of her person, and she ordered me out of her house."

Elrond chuckled again. "Elladan, you simply have not mastered the correct technique in tending to young human females with this type of injury. She has given me not a whit of trouble in this aspect of her healing."

"I, Father, unlike you, do not have the benefit of bestowing healing _sleep_ on my patients," Elladan said with a grin.

Elrond threw back his head and laughed deeply.

"Ah, Elladan," he said, when he could finally speak again, "you simply lack a few centuries in age and experience. As soon as you age, then you will have no trouble in managing shy embarrassed human females by putting them to sleep, and _then_ attending to their personal persons."

"I hope not to have to manage any young human females ever again, if you would like to know the truth of it," Elladan declared honestly.

Elrond chuckled quietly and rose. "It seems our girl has quite a shine on for you, as well, my son. Be careful of her heart."

"You are jesting with me again Father!" Elladan said in haste as he rose from his chair. "Please tell me that you are jesting! I cannot deal with this too. If it is so, _you_ must do something about it. I know not enough about humans—especially young and female ones—to cope with something such as this."

"I know somewhat more of humans, and female humans included, my son," Elrond declared. "Yes, I would say for sure that Jeren does indeed have her sights set on you. I am _definitely_ not jesting about this."

"Oh yes you are! This is some kind of a prank!" Elladan's anger was rising. It was apparent that he did not believe that his father was innocent, and that Elrond had only meant to irritate him for some insane reason. "You are jesting, I know you are. First you come in here and watch me sleeping. Then you practically ogle my nudity and talk of Orcs on the grounds of Imladris. You _tickle_ me and now this? Father, you have some serious problems!"

Elladan threw his hands up in despair and stomped toward the door to his bathing room. As soon as he placed his hand on the latch, he turned back to his father. He glared at Elrond for a few moments, looking at him as if he had grown a second head. Elrond simply smiled, cocked one of his finely arched eyebrows and waved the fingers of one hand at his irate offspring.

"Farewell for now, Elladan," the Elf lord said. "It was pleasant conversing with you this morning. I meant not to upset you. Perhaps you should come down to the Healing Halls; you are looking a bit strange about the eyes of a sudden. I should have a look at you."

Elladan said nothing, he simply opened the door to the bathing room and went in, slamming the door behind him.

Elrond smiled widely.

Ah—life was good at the moment. Not just one child to rankle. He had two of them. Twice the fun.

Yes. Life was good.

Jeren awoke shortly after the noon hour and was promptly taken care of by Naith, and a new Elf by the name of Daeron. Naith, of course, took care of Jeren's more personal needs, while Daeron brought her a tray full of many delicious things for lunch. There were some apple slices, and pieces of pear, along with some other types of fruit, which she knew not the names of. Also, there was some very good bread and some cheese as well. And the milk! So cold—she wondered how they managed such a thing! Daeron laughed when she asked him, and he told her something about a cold mountain spring, but she promptly lost track of his explanation when other questions came to mind concerning other things. Daeron laughed quite a bit—and easily, too. It was a good thing he was so cheerful, for Jeren chafed at having to be fed by him, but his happiness made it all easier to bear somehow.

Naith left shortly after Daeron began to feed the girl her lunch, and just before Jeren was finished eating, Naith returned, pushing a cart laden with two basins of water, a few large fluffy cloths and several small ones. The top of the cart also contained several bottles of different colors and shapes.

"What have you there, Naith?" Daeron inquired. "A surprise for young Jeren?"

"One she will enjoy, I can assure her," Naith replied with a smile. "A bath has been ordered by the Lord of the house. Now scoot, Daeron, before my water cools."

"I bid you good day, Jeren," Daeron said with a bow, "I am sure to see you tomorrow; perhaps this evening, if you have need of me then. Until another time." He bowed again, took the tray from her lap and was gone.

Naith walked silently up one of the aisles and came back quickly bearing a lightweight but opaque screen. She set it up around Jeren's bed, so that the girl's privacy was completely ensured.

"I mean to give you no trouble, Naith," Jeren said, "but I am still very shy about being touched—by anyone. You do understand, do you not?"

"Of course, Jeren," she said with sympathy. "I completely understand, and I will try my best to be gentle and go slowly in my handling of you. Be sure to tell me if you are uncomfortable about anything, and we will discuss it, and perhaps find alternate ways of getting things accomplished. Do you agree to help me with this?"

"I do, Naith," Jeren said honestly. "I will try not to be difficult. I am ready to begin when you say so."

Naith smiled and turned the covers down from Jeren's body. She was swathed in bandages from the base of her neck to just above her elbows, so there was not much above her waist to wash, besides her neck and face. She was still clad in her father's underdrawers and old woolen socks, which Naith commenced to remove. Jeren tried not to blush, but a person really has no control over such an automatic response, and Naith gave no indication that she noticed one way or another. Lord Elrond had fashioned a bandage that held an herbal poultice in place where the Orcs had damaged her when they raped her, which Naith also removed. She efficiently bathed Jeren completely, dried her, and reapplied the poultice and bandage and had her dressed in some sort of fine silky Elven trousers that tied at the top. She slipped some soft fluffy stockings onto her feet, as well. Naith pulled the covers up to Jeren's waist, and catching Jeren's eye, gave her a wink and a smile.

"So far, not so bad, huh?" she asked sweetly.

"So far, not so bad at all," Jeren replied with relief.

"Good." Naith said gently.

She then did something that surprised Jeren. Naith took a small knife and slit the outer bandage the surrounded Jeren's arms. There was still another bandage that covered her chest and shoulders, but this at least freed her arms somewhat. Naith dipped her cloth into the water and dampened one of Jeren's hands and arm with the cloth, then took a small bit of soap and rubbed at it till a lather was worked up. She then dipped the cloth back into the basin, rinsing it, and wiped the soap away. She repeated the procedure, making sure all the soap was indeed rinsed off. Just as she was finishing, Jeren winced and jumped slightly, pulling her arm just a bit.

"Ouch," Jeren said quietly.

"I am sorry," Naith said, her brows knitting together with concern. "Let me see what it is. I knew not of an injury there."

Naith turned Jeren's arm slightly and bent her neck to look underneath, and felt her heart lurch at what she observed. There on the underside of the injured girl's arm just above her elbow was the unmistakable imprinted wound of the bite of an Orc. Obviously no one else had known it was there, either. It was angry and oozing—obviously infected. Everyone had been so overcome by the gravity of the broken clavicle, and had not dared to twist her arm to inspect its underside, that it had gone completely unnoticed. Naith needed to find Lord Elrond, so that he could see this and treat it.

"What is it, Naith?" Jeren asked with curiosity.

Naith hated to speak the truth to the girl, but it is not in the nature of Elves to tell falsehoods.

"It is the bite of an Orc, Jeren," Naith replied sadly. "It has been apparently overlooked in the haste of your healers to deal with your more serious injuries."

Jeren blanched. "One of them _bit_ me?" she asked, appalled.

"I am afraid so," Naith replied. "As soon as I have finished with your bath, I will fetch Lord Elrond, and he will fix that right up. After he has finished healing it, you will most likely not be able to tell it was ever there."

Jeren nodded, but it seemed as if all the joy had gone out of her. Naith was starting to worry about her. Her mood had changed so dramatically, it was alarming. The Elf finished with Jeren's bath, but did not bandage her again. She drew the covers up around Jeren's shoulders and rose.

"I will go and get Lord Elrond now, Jeren," Naith explained. "Are you doing all right? You are so quiet of a sudden."

Jeren simply nodded her head again. She said nothing. Naith piled the dirty linen and Jeren's clothing on the shelf beneath the cart and rolled it away, quickly leaving through the door and hurrying to find the Elven Lord of Imladris. She was worried she may have done the wrong thing in telling Jeren what the wound was, but the girl would have found out soon enough anyway. Finding out that Naith had lied to her would have accomplished nothing but in causing Jeren to lose trust in her. How else should she have responded?

Naith left the cart in the utility hall and quickly made her way to the Lord of Imladris' study, where he spent most of his time when he wasn't in the Healing Halls. She knocked at the door and waited anxiously for him to invite her to enter. As soon as he did, she opened the door and made haste to explain what exactly concerned her.

"Lord Elrond," she said anxiously, "I have just completed the bathing of Jeren, and have discovered an untreated Orc bite on the underside of one of her arms. It was an accidental discovery—I brushed against it in the rinsing of her arm, and it pained her. I looked at it, she asked me about it, and I told her what it was. I saw no point in telling her falsely, losing her trust in me, but after I did so, her mood fell dramatically. Please, my lord, come and survey what damage I may have inflicted on her mind. I am sorely worried for her."

Elrond had risen during Naith's worried speech and had walked around his desk, stopping next to her.

"Naith, calm down," Elrond said gently. "You did exactly the right thing. You benefit Jeren not at all by telling her untruths. Let us go look at the injury now. This may be exactly what she needs at the present. I had feared she was pushing this too far down into herself. This makes the attack on her a real thing again. I hate that it is necessary, but if she is to heal, I am afraid that it is."

The two Elves left Elrond's study, and headed back to the Healing Halls. Elrond opened the door, holding it wide allowing Naith entry before him, then entered himself, closing the door behind him.

They approached Jeren's bed, and Elrond noticed right away that the girl was not the same happy child she had been earlier in the day.

"Jeren," Elrond said gently, "Naith said she has discovered another injury on your arm. In order to examine it properly, I am afraid I will have to ask you to be seated on the edge of your bed. Would you mind if I helped you to sit there?"

She shook her head no, and began to sit forward a bit. Elrond helped her and she was soon seated on the edge of her bed. He peered at her arm but without twisting it or twisting his neck at an uncomfortable angle, he still could not get a good look at the bite.

"How on Middle Earth did you even see this injury, Naith?" Elrond asked his assistant in frustration as she stood there smiling at his difficulty.

"I suppose my neck is a bit more supple, my lord?" Naith asked with a grin.

They both glanced at Jeren, hoping to see a smile on her lips, but went unrewarded. She simply stared stonily ahead, the same as before.

Elrond gave Naith a look of mock exasperation. "Help me seat her in the chair. Even my neck is supple enough to view it from there." Naith smiled again and did as the Elf lord bid. Jeren moved woodenly, and offered no comment.

He finally got a good look at what he had been seeking—the perfectly hideous imprint of each and every fang in the mouth of an Orc, pressed deeply into the injured girl's skin. It disgusted the Elf lord. The infection wasn't serious, but the idea that those fiends were anywhere near this sweet little girl made his skin crawl and his heart ache. He lifted his eyes to seek those of his patient, but her eyes were gazing off elsewhere in the room—or perhaps even farther away than that.

Elrond directed Naith to find and mix a particular herbal poultice and to bring a cleansing solution and clean bandages as well. She left to do his bidding and he returned his attention to Jeren.

"Jeren," he said, "what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," she said, barely above a whisper.

"I have very large, pointed Elven ears, Jeren," Elrond replied, "I could listen very well, if you have a mind to use them for that purpose."

"I have nothing to say, really," she replied sadly. "One of them bit me, Lord Elrond. They had their nasty mouths on me. And their nasty tongues as well. Do you know what I did to one of them?"

When she paused and did not continue, and was obviously waiting for an answer, Elrond responded.

"What did you do to him, Jeren?" he asked quietly.

"They were holding me down and ripping my clothes," she said methodically. She did not notice that Elladan had entered the Healing Halls. She wasn't noticing anything much, except that she was sitting with the Elf lord who was her friend, and she was safe with him. "They were licking my face and it made me want to retch. They smelled horrible, and their tongues were slimy and I was afraid so I screamed. But when I did, one of them was trying to kiss me, I guess, and he stuck his tongue in my mouth. I could not abide that, my lord. No, I could not abide that at all. I bit down on his tongue as hard as I could. I bit his tongue completely off, my lord. It was there in my mouth, and I spit it right out at him as he fell to the ground."

"Good for you, Jeren," Elrond said defiantly. "I am proud of you, girl. You did just the right thing."

Jeren blinked her eyes several times and swallowed convulsively as well. Elrond was not an experienced healer for nothing, and he had a basin out and beneath Jeren's chin well before she lost her lunch, to his credit. Elladan came forward quickly, for as she was sick, she began crying. She wasn't hysterical; her tears were simply deep, cleansing tears. He relieved Elrond of the bowl, and set it aside, as his father knelt before the weeping girl and gently took her hands into his. Elladan knelt beside his father, brushing the hair from Jeren's perspiring brow.

"You were very brave, Sweetling," he said with pride.

"I fear I am dirty and ruined by them," she said shakily.

"Never," Elrond averred. "You were so far above them before they beset you, there is no way they could ever drag you down to their level, Jeren. Nothing they could do to you could leave you dirty or ruined. You were whole and pure before, and you are so still. Every part of you."

"Lord Elrond," Jeren said quietly, her eyes still damp with tears, although she was no longer weeping, "Would you hold me?"

The Elf lord felt he would melt into a puddle at the request, and he stood, opening his arms to the young lady. She stood tremulously, and with Elladan beside her to steady her, she allowed herself to be engulfed into a sweet Elven hug.

Elrond wanted to hug her fiercely, but knew he could only apply the lightest of pressure to her poor broken body. He lay his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes and allowing his own tears to slip into her hair. At long last, he straightened up somewhat, and drew back a bit.

"What say we get you back into bed, Jeren?" he asked.

She nodded her head, and Elrond and Elladan and Naith, too, each helped in their way, getting the girl back into the bed once again.

"Ah, I almost forgot!" Elrond said surprised, for he rarely was caught off guard by anything. "I still need to tend to that injury on that arm of yours."

"Perhaps one of us with the more 'supple' necks should tend to the wound, my lord," Naith commented, looking at the Elf lord slyly out of the corner of one eye.

"My neck is supple enough, my dear," he replied haughtily, "Just you give me the things as I ask for them, as a good assistant should."

Naith laughed, although she did not seem properly chastised to Elrond. He gave her orders and she responded quickly, and before long, Jeren's newly discovered injury was tended and bandaged. Then, Elrond remembered to truss Jeren up the way she had been trussed up before—with her arms practically tied to her sides. She had hoped he would maybe forget about that. Today had not been one of her luckier days, it seemed.

"Shall we try to find Anardil for you, Jeren?" Elladan asked kindly.

"No, Elladan," Jeren said quickly, "Please do not do that. He was in a sad mood earlier, and I wish not to add to his worry with mine. Lord Elrond, if you do not mind, I am terribly tired. Could you put me to sleep again? I desperately want to sleep."

"Yes, Jeren," Elrond replied. "I will be glad to."

He sat on the side of her bed once again, and placed his hands over her heart.

"Sleep, sweet Jeren," he said with a trembling voice. "Those who love you will watch over you till you wake once again. Now sleep. Worry not. We are here. You are not alone."

"Sleep."

*Tuile - Spring

*Hrive - Winter


	10. Is it Charity, Papa?

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

"Ouch!" Jeren exclaimed, as the Elf lord removed a stubborn stitch from the gash in her chest.

It had been ten days since Jeren had been brought to Imladris in pain beyond belief from injuries she received at the hands of Orcs raiding her homestead. The gash she had taken from the thrashing hoof of her dying horse was now healed enough that the stitches Elrohir had painstakingly—in every sense of the word—used to close the wound could now be removed. Elrond, the Lord of Imladris was in the process of taking out the stitches—all twenty of them. It had been a large and ugly gash, requiring much stitching. Elrohir was a gifted healer, in spite of his lack of enthusiasm for the task, and Jeren's scar, while quite noticeable, would not be the hideous affair it would have been, had it been left to a lesser healer—say perhaps one of human origins.

"I am sorry, Jeren," Elrond said with sympathy, "but some of these are quite stubborn. They refuse to give up their task of holding the gash closed, even though their assistance is no longer necessary."

Jeren still had to blush, even after all the different male Elves that had attended her in her healing since her run-in with the Orcs. She felt comfortable with Lord Elrond, but he was still male, and she was still sitting here in the bed with her breasts exposed to him, even though he didn't seem to be noticing anything but the stitches at the moment.

"I understand, my lord," Jeren replied. "I am trying to be silent. Sometimes the pain of it catches me by surprise. I mean not to call out so. It shames me when I do. Papa would not like it were he here. Please do not tell him I am failing so badly."

Elrond looked up at her and frowned deeply, stopping his task for the moment. Jeren put an extreme amount of pressure on herself to be perfect; but she was, after all, human. Even an Elf wasn't perfect; how could a human expect to be so?

"Jeren," he said impatiently, "how many times have I told you since you have been here, that it is perfectly normal to show you have pain? I have had grown Elves give me ten times the grief you have, and with over ten times less of an injury! Now cease this talk of shame!"

"Yes, my lord," Jeren replied as if properly chastised. Elrohir chose just this time to make an appearance into Jeren's space in the Healing Halls. Elrond had not thought to draw a screen around Jeren's bed, much to her dismay, for Elves thought nothing of nudity among themselves, so gave not much thought of it among others either. Anardil had told Naith of Jeren's modesty, before she had started to help her with her personal needs, so it had become quite routine for her to provide privacy for Jeren whenever she was seeing to her. So poor Jeren's blush deepened when Elrohir approached her bed with a cheery greeting for the new day.

"How is our favorite girl in the Healing Halls this morning?" Elrohir asked, oblivious to Jeren's embarrassment. He had finished his 'sentence' to appear in the Healing Halls each morning at sunrise—for lacking bedside manner—over four days ago, so he was back to his cheerful, irritating and irreverent self.

"Elrohir," Jeren pleaded, "do you mind? Could you possibly turn around, or go behind me or some such thing? My bare body is hanging out here for all the world to see, and I am as embarrassed as can be!"

Elrond stood upright abruptly, and shielded Jeren's body from Elrohir's view.

"Turn around Elrohir! And please, go fetch a screen," Elrond said sharply. "I apologize, Jeren. Forgive my obtuseness. Elves think nothing of nudity, and I forget the customs of your people. I will remember this blunder, have no fear. This will not happen again. You have my word."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Jeren replied sincerely. "I would appreciate that greatly."

Elrohir did as his father had bid, and returned in short order, placing a screen around Jeren's bed, hiding her from prying eyes. He stood behind Jeren, and looked over her shoulder at his father. This made Jeren feel much better. It wasn't the perfect solution, but at least the Elf wasn't getting a full frontal view of her.

"As soon as I have these stitches out," Elrond said, "we will see about placing your shoulders in a sling that will hold them back, and your clavicle in place, without having to have your arms tied down. I fear it will be very painful at first, however. We may have to do it by degrees; start with it strapped loosely, but with your arms still restrained, and progress with the sling until it is as tight as it should be. Then we will be able to leave your arms free. You will remain in the sling—or brace is more what it is—for a few more weeks, until I am sure the bones are knit strongly. You will continue to need to remain very quiet—no strenuous use of your arms or shoulders for quite some time, until the bones have had time enough to knit together before they are rock hard once again."

"Yes, my lord," Jeren replied dutifully. "Whatever you wish me to do for my recovery, I will do."

"Would that all my patients were so cooperative," Elrond said to them both as he bent to his task once again. "I am almost halfway finished with the removal of the stitches, Jeren. It should not take much longer now."

"How does the scar look, Father?" Elrohir asked with interest. He doubted very much that he would be allowed to inspect the fruit of his efforts for himself, with Jeren being a girl of such modesty.

"It looks excellent, Elrohir," Elrond said with obvious pride. "It was a bad gash in a difficult location. You closed it well, with very fine stitches. The scar is minimal and should remain so. I do regret that we will be forced to pull her shoulders back with the scar so new. It may cause it to widen somewhat, but I still do not believe it will be very noticeable."

"It matters not so much to me," Jeren said in an off-hand manner. "Who is to see it anyway?"

"A husband may venture a peek now and then, sweet, modest Jeren," Elrohir said with one of his wickedest grins. "But likewise, it will not matter to him either, for he will love you with all his heart, and such things matter not between husbands and wives, do they, Father?"

"They do not, Elrohir, you are so right," Elrond replied confidently.

"You two do not have to be pretending because of me," Jeren said with a smile. "I will not be marrying. I have no illusions about such a thing any more."

"What do you mean, Jeren?" Elrond asked, drawing his brows together in puzzlement.

"I will not be marrying," Jeren restated flatly. "I know that is fact, and I accept it. You need not pretend there is a chance that my fate will be otherwise."

"I understand not why you would think in this way," Elrond said, his ire rising slightly.

Jeren surprised him by showing a wee bit of anger in her eyes as well.

_Perhaps that is not so bad. Anger is as good a way as any to get emotion out as are tears—as long as the anger is not allowed to get out of hand._

"I am no longer pure by anyone's standard, be they Elves or humans, Lord Elrond," Jeren exclaimed, although she did not raise her voice. "What man would have me, defiled as I am? You would not think that I should pass myself off as something that I am not, would you?"

"Of course I would not!" Elrond said, his eyes flashing dangerously. He wondered to himself if he scared her at all. It did not appear as if he did_._ He bent his head back to his task. He wanted to finish this job, for it took his concentration, yet he wanted to give this conversation with Jeren his full attention as well.

"There are plenty of men who would have you, Jeren," Elrohir put in. "Those who would not are not half the men they would attest to be."

"That sounds very pretty, Elrohir," Jeren said sarcastically, "but in reality, what a man says he is willing to marry and what he truly marries can be vastly different. Why do you not tell me, Elrohir, would you marry a woman who had lain with Orcs?"

"I was married to one, Jeren," Elrond said loudly. "What say you to that? I found her to be beautiful and whole and worthy of everything she had been worthy of before they laid their filthy paws on her. It was _she _who would not have _me_ when they were done with her, not the other way around. What say you to that, _princess_?" Elrond threw the small scissors he'd been using on the stitches down on the metal tray, sending a resounding crash throughout the small area surrounding Jeren's bed, and left the room in a flurry of robes. The quiet was deafening. Neither Jeren nor Elrohir moved.

Elrohir draped Jeren in a blanket that had been lying across the foot of the bed, and she grasped it together in front. He went around her, and looked into her eyes, afraid of what he may see. He hated that she had accidentally trod on his father's toes so roughly, but his father had not exactly left hers untrod upon on his way out the door. He was relieved when he saw that besides appearing as saucers, her eyes were dry, and she did not appear to be near emotional collapse.

"Valar, Elrohir!" Jeren exclaimed, "I am so sorry! I had forgotten all about your mother! I cannot believe I said such a thing! I want to apologize to your father right now. The hurt he must feel, and it is all because of my feeling sorry for myself. I am so ashamed!" Jeren buried her face in her hands.

"Worry not, Jeren," Elrohir said calmly. "My father growls loudly sometimes, but he bites not at all. He will forgive and forget so quickly you will wonder if you imagined the incident. However, he will expect an apology, so do not fail to give him one. He is a very traditional Elf, even though he acts quite nontraditional at times."

Jeren's face emerged from her hands, and she looked up at Elrohir with dry eyes, to his amazement. Yet her face was a mask of pain—pain that she could have caused such anguish to someone she was beginning to hold dear.

"When do you think I should beg his forgiveness?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, Jeren," Elrohir said confidentially. "Never beg! Be confident and forthright—but do not beg! He will hold you in so much more esteem should you behave in such a manner."

"I don't know, Elrohir," Jeren said skeptically. "He seems pretty much tuned in to your _good ideas. _I think I may perhaps decide when I see him again—that is, if he decides to come to see me again. Oh, I am so hateful! How could I have done it?" The girl was practically wailing she was so distraught with herself.

"He will forgive you, and of course he will come to see you again," Elrohir quietly fussed at her. "Now open up this blanket, I want to see if he removed all the stitches."

"No!" Jeren said sharply. "He can do it when he returns."

"If you believe I am leaving you here, with that clavicle unbound," Elrohir said chidingly, "you believe wrongly. After having my father discipline me for my bedside manner, of all things—for a whole week, mind you—do not believe I will tempt fate by leaving you in any way open to injury of any sort. Now, open up."

Jeren admitted defeat, and allowed Elrohir access to the blanket's edges so that he could check on the progress of the stitch removal. Elrohir had a very hard time believing what he was seeing. Elrond had left at least a half dozen stitches untouched. This was so unlike his father, it was eerie. Elrohir took up the scissors the Elf lord had tossed so loudly onto the tray, and began where his father had left off, and after about five minutes had the job completed. He dipped a cloth into an herbal solution his father had prepared earlier for the purpose, and cleansed the now stitchless scar, which had a few redden areas on it where the stitching had not wanted to come loose. A small bath with the medicated herbal solution would take any irritation out of the scar, and all would be well with this injury at last. He admired his work as he bathed it, then dried it. _Yes, he was quite good with the needle, even if he did say so himself._

He got busy and had Jeren bound and trussed up once again in no time. Anardil entered the Healing Halls just as the Elf was finishing tying the knots against Jeren's arms, and settling a loose-fitting robe around her body.

"Anardil," Elrohir greeted the ranger, "how fare you this morning?"

"I fare very well, Elrohir," he replied. "And how fares my girl? She is looking very well, that is apparent."

"I am feeling fine, Papa," Jeren replied quietly.

"You sound not so well, Jeren," her father observed. "What ails you?"

"She and father had a small falling out," Elrohir admitted on Jeren's behalf. "Nothing serious."

Elrohir could see Anardil visibly bristle.

"Jeren," Anardil said gruffly. "What did you do?"

Jeren's gaze fell to the floor, then lifted back to meet that of her sire.

"I back-talked Lord Elrond, Papa," she replied. "I deserve punishment. I will apologize to him as soon as I see him again, and I await your judgment and accept the penalty you will mete out to me."

Elrohir could not believe his ears. He heard the girl speaking. He understood her language as well as his own native tongue, but she made absolutely no sense. His father and Jeren had an argument—plain and simple. They would apologize to each other, and the case would be closed. End of the trial. No judgment—no penalty required.

"Jeren," Elrohir interjected, "it was not that serious. Anardil, believe me. Father has suffered much worse from Elladan and I and has not so much as raised an eyebrow at us. She deserves no punishment at all. Father will see to her, you have no need to mete out any penalties."

Anardil's jaw visibly relaxed, and Elrohir relaxed as well. He always believed he knew Anardil, but the relationship between this father and daughter was quite different from any other he had ever been privy to.

"Jeren," Anardil began, but more quietly this time, "whatever possessed you to do such a thing? We owe the Lord of Imladris so very much as it is. What gives you the cheek to sass him in any way?"

"I know not, Papa," Jeren replied. Her voice was quavering, but anyone witnessing the girl speaking could tell she was trying her hardest not to cry. "Ever since—this—happened—I sometimes get angry so quickly, I say things before I can think what they may sound like to others. It happens of a sudden, so the words sneak from my mouth. To control them is nigh on to impossible, for I know not they are coming before they are already out in the air."

"And that is an entirely normal response to such trauma," Elrond said unexpectedly as he reentered the room. He stopped beside Jeren, placing one of his hands on one of her arms as they lay in her lap.

"I apologize again to you this morning, Jeren," the Elf lord said kindly. "I lost my temper with you, and that is inexcusable. You said nothing so wrong as to elicit such a response from me. I have my reasons for the reaction I exhibited, which I will not impart to you, but they are no excuse for treating you badly. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive a healer who should know better than to throw his scissors in anger and stomp from a room. It seems I could use some remedial work in bedside manner, as well, does it not?"

Jeren buried her face in her hands, and this time, she did begin to cry. She wished that she hadn't, for she very much wanted to speak plainly, so that Lord Elrond could understand every word of the heartfelt apology she wished to deliver to him now.

"I am sorry, Lord Elrond," Jeren said thickly. "You are the last person in the world I would ever wish to hurt. I cannot fathom what possessed me to say such an unkind remark. I hope you will still be my friend, even though I do not deserve it."

Elrond put his arms around the weeping girl, consoling her gently.

"Do not cry, Jeren," he said sweetly, "or you shall have me in tears as well. I wish not for your father to see me cry. It is not good for my image."

Jeren lifted her head and gave a little laugh, which brought forth a small groan from the pain of her broken ribs.

"There," Elrond said with a smile as he placed his fingertips beneath her chin. "That is much better. Just the way I like to see my girl—smiling. I see Elrohir has you bandaged once again. It seems he is the much better healer this morning than I am. I trust he removed the remainder of the stitches?"

"Yes," Jeren replied. "I wanted him to wait for you, but he would not do it. He is terribly hard-headed, you know."

Everyone laughed, save Elrohir, of course.

"Excuse me, young lady," Elrohir said crossly. "I could replace those stitches, and let Father remove them, if that is what would make you happier."

"Oh no, Elrohir," Jeren exclaimed quickly. "That is quite all right. I appreciate you finishing the job Lord Elrond started. Thank you ever so very much."

"That is better, young lady!" Elrohir said smugly. Then he narrowed his eyes and let a small smile cross his lips.

"Naith will be arriving shortly to administer your bath, Jeren," Elrond stated. "Have no fear, however; all of us of the male gender will be repairing to the veranda, just outside, for various and sundry discussions. Ah Elladan, I am glad to see you could rouse yourself at a reasonable hour this morning."

Elladan entered the Healing Halls, greeting everyone in turn. Jeren's eyes lit on the newcomer, and did not wander from his face. She did not know what it was about him that made her feel so completely good when he was near. He looked exactly like Elrohir, with a few simple differences she had begun to notice. His face was a fraction thinner. Elrohir's jaw was just the smallest bit squarer. Insignificant things such as these were the inconsistencies between them, at least physically. Personally, Elladan's warmth was a tangible thing. Jeren felt enveloped in it the minute he entered the room. It was as if he had an aura about him, and he would allow you to inhabit it with him, if he chose to let you. Elladan was as close to perfect as a man could get, in Jeren's eyes. She did not notice she considered him a man, and not an Elf at all.

Naith was indeed fast on Elladan's heels, and he held the door open for her as she guided her cart through it, laden with the bathing supplies she would need to tend to Jeren. As Naith pushed the cart toward Jeren's bed, Elladan bent and whispered something into her ear, causing the young female to blush and smile, and gently cuff him in the ribs. Elladan laughed lightly, and followed the rest of the 'men' as they left for their meeting out on the veranda. Jeren felt a stab of jealousy, watching the playful interaction of the two Elves. She wondered at her reaction briefly, but Naith was already busily speaking to her, so she soon forgot about her strange feelings.

Jeren was so much better in all respects, she no longer needed to be bandaged and poulticed in her 'nether regions'. The Orc bite on her arm was healing very well, and was now scabbed over. It would soon be only a scar. Jeren was thankful it was on the underside of her arm. She need not be reminded of her ordeal constantly by seeing it every time her arm was within her line of vision.

It took not long at all before she was once again refreshed and reclothed. Jeren sat in the chair while Naith changed the linen on the bed. Jeren thought again about the little exchange between Elladan and Naith just before the others had gone out onto the veranda.

"Naith," Jeren said, "if I am being too personal, please pardon me; but I am very curious. I noticed Elladan and you were very playful earlier. Is there anything between you? Are you his intended, or betrothed?"

Naith laughed lightly and replied, "No, Jeren, Elladan is a sweet and dear friend. We love each other as friends, not as mates. We will one day each choose spouses and bond with them for all time, at least that is what I believe we will do. No one, of course, knows the future."

"How is it among Elves, Naith?" Jeren asked with puzzlement. "I mean about—you know. Males and females—and things. Is it as it is with humans? Do Elves save themselves for marriage? Have the females to remain pure for their marriage beds?"

"Well, Jeren," Naith began, not knowing entirely how much Lord Elrond would wish for this youngling to truly know. She supposed there was no harm in telling Jeren of Elves. What harm could it do? The girl was human; knowledge of Elves would not pertain to her anyway. "With Elves, union of the body is a beautiful shared experience, and yes, it is an experience often shared outside of the marriage bed. However, once an Elf finds the one they love above all others, they feel a drive to bond with that Elf. That bond is sacred; it is our marriage bond, and once spoken and consummated, it cannot be broken—not even by death. They take no other lovers after they choose and bond with their one true love. Elves love deeply and bond only once in their entire lifetime. That does not mean that they do not share their beds with any others before they find their true loves, because most—but not all—do. We live such long lives, we would be lonely indeed were we to live without the physical closeness such as the union with the body of another brings. I hope this does not shock you, or cause you to think ill of Elves, but it is the truth, and it is what you asked me."

"Truthfully," Jeren admitted, "it is slightly shocking, simply because I am unused to the idea. However, I could never think ill of the Elves. You are all so kind and courageous and loyal, I can see how no one could ever think ill of you. I do wonder, though—" Jeren let her voice die off, for she was so curious about it all, but was terribly embarrassed to ask anyone such a personal question. Her curiosity finally won the battle.

"Naith," Jeren said, "answer not if this is too personal. I ask only because I am an ignorant young human. My mother died three years ago, and I have not her to ask, and I would never ask my father—the embarrassment would kill me. So I will ask you. Have you ever—?"

"Yes, Jeren," Naith said truthfully, "many times, but with lovers very sweet, whom I admire and love as friends above all."

Jeren's heart fell into her stomach at the choice of Naith's words_. Lovers she admired and loved as friends above all._ That is almost how she had explained her relationship with Elladan. Now Jeren wondered if Naith and Elladan had ever—? No, she just did not wish to know that. In fact, she wished for this conversation to be over completely.

"Thank you for being so honest with me Naith," Jeren said finally. "I hope I have not been too much of a pest. It is just that with having all this—happen to me—I know not what my future will bring. What man will want me, used as I am? And by _what_ I was used."

"I wish I had some gems of wisdom to offer you, Jeren," Naith told the uncertain girl. "I know next to nothing of humans. You and your father are almost the only humans I have ever had contact with, besides Estel and his mother Gilraen, that is. Estel almost does not count, for he was raised here in the House of Elrond, almost as an Elf. They have both been gone for many years now, so even that small amount of knowledge I had acquired has been unused for quite some time. I know none of the customs or habits of your kind to speak of, so I cannot assure you one way or another. All I can say for sure is that a man would be foolish indeed, to pass up the beauty and innate grace that emanate from you, not to mention your courage and loyalty that shine through as well. I feel deep inside my heart that there is a mate for everyone upon Middle Earth, it is simply up to us to find them. It may be a long and hard search, but if we truly wish to be loved and to love in return, we should never give up hope or the search, until our goal has been met!"

Jeren smiled at Naith, for the Elf never failed to make her feel better. Elves seemed to have an inborn talent for that sort of thing.

"I thank you for your words of wisdom just the same, Naith," Jeren replied. The girl yawned deeply, covering her gaping maw with one hand, then stifling a giggle as soon as she could close her mouth. "Excuse me, my friend. I seem to be sinking, and growing tired again. It amazes me at how much of my strength has left me—amazes and angers me, I should say."

"You were very much hurt, Jeren," Naith commented solemnly. "I think you perhaps do not know just how badly you were injured. It will take quite some time before you are up to full strength again. Just wait until Lord Elrond puts you on a training schedule to rebuild your strength. It will seem somewhat easy at first, but by the time you complete it, you will be close to cursing his name."

Jeren laughed, and then groaned. "I will be happy to laugh again without pain. But for now, I must bid you good night, for I am afraid I may fall asleep before I have the chance to say it again. Thank you for all of your help, Naith. You are a true friend, and I appreciate you very much."

"It is my pleasure to assist you, Jeren," the Elf replied kindly. "For now, sleep. You still need much rest. When next you awaken, I suspect lunch will be served to you." Naith helped Jeren into the bed, covering her up and tucking her in once more. She gave her a pat on the hand just before she turned toward the door.

The bed felt so good to Jeren. She was fresh and clean. No stitches pulling and itching on her chest. The linen was fresh and smelled of the outdoors. She briefly wondered at what the 'men' were discussing on the veranda outside her door, but she did not wonder for long. She was soon sleeping blissfully, drifting as if on a cloud of comfort, hovering over the beauty of Imladris.

The three Elves and the ranger were sitting around the table on the veranda outside Jeren's room in the Healing Halls. The table had been furnished with four glasses and two bottles of wine before the meeting had begun, so before anyone started to speak, Elrohir appointed himself table steward, and began pouring drink for everyone. He then tasted the wine, and pronounced it excellent, thereby giving the meeting his permission to begin. Elrond gave him a dour look.

"Anardil," Elrond began, "you asked me yesterday how long I thought it would be before Jeren would be well enough to leave Imladris. I have thought about my answer, and it is one of contingency. Technically, she is well enough now, provided she has an escort and healing staff along with her that can see to all of her needs until she reaches her final destination, wherever that may be. In my opinion, however, it is much too soon. The danger of re-injuring her clavicle is high, and she has already been through enough with that particular injury, that I could not in good conscience give my blessing to allow her leave to depart at this time. I think it will be at least another month—my most confident opinion would be two months—before she is back to being close to as she was before this incident occurred."

"Where would you take her, Anardil?" Elladan asked quietly.

"I know not at the present," the ranger admitted. "I simply wanted a time frame with which to work. I have no close family, you know, so I would be visiting with Aragorn concerning Jeren; see who he would suggest would be the best family to place her with."

"And what does Jeren think of this idea?" Elrohir asked pointedly.

Anardil looked surprised by the question. "I know not, and it matters little. She must do what she must—and what I tell her to do. We have not many options. She will not stay in the house in the Angle. I doubt she will go back there, but even were she willing to, I am not willing to allow it. That leaves families of the Dunedain. We care for one another. We are, after all, family."

"I suppose it is Estel's position that gives him leave to decide a girl's future this way?" Elrohir asked, his ire just a breath away.

"It is the only way we have, Elrohir," Anardil exclaimed. "Need I remind you who the Dunedain are? We are descendants of Numenor, suspect by our close association to the line of Isildur. Our reputation has somehow become tainted. Perhaps by devices of evil. Who really knows? We are rangers—cold, ruthless, uncaring of anyone save ourselves. No one outside of our clan trusts us, save perhaps the Elves. It is not as if I have doting grandmothers or caring aunties to leave Jeren with. Think you that I am heartless, Elrohir? I know my daughter will not be happy, having her life decided for her this way. But there is no alternative. I tried it my way—and I failed miserably, to her extreme detriment, I might add. What would you have me do, Elrohir? Tell me that! You are so full of grand ideas, it seems—let us hear some of them!"

"Leave her here, for Valar's sake!" Elrohir exclaimed.

"Oh yes, that is quite the solution," Anardil exclaimed. "I owe you so much now, I may as well leech from you for the rest of my life! Is that the esteem you would wish that I hold for myself, Elrohir?"

"Which is most important, Anardil," Elrohir asked, his eyes flashing, "your esteem for yourself, or Jeren's happiness and welfare?"

"Enough!" Elrond said loudly. "This gets us nowhere."

Anardil and Elrohir both relaxed back into their chairs, each one taking up their wine glasses, and ingesting large swallows. Elrohir sat forward, and poured himself another glass, for he had emptied his. He then placed his elbows on the table, and rested his face in the palms of his hands. Elladan placed his hand on one of his shoulders, and leaned forward. Elrohir looked at his brother and smiled a half smile and shook his head. Elladan smiled back at him, and ran his hand down the back of Elrohir's head, silently telling him not to worry, they had seen Jeren this far, they would not let her down now.

Elrond drew himself up, and rose. Standing straight and tall, he made a pronouncement:

"Anardil, I am calling a council in two weeks time," Elrond declared. "The presence of the Dunedain Chieftain is strongly advised." He paced away a few steps, then turned back to face the others. "I will have the summons ready for your departure at first light. I deem you ready for duty. Do you agree?"

Anardil smiled, and said, "I do indeed deem myself so, and it shall be as you have decreed. I will bear the summons to our Chieftain, Aragorn son of Arathorn."

"So be it," Elrond said haughtily. It did his old heart good to summon his foster son home, after all these years. He may be Chieftain of the Dunedain, but he still called Elrond 'Father'. "Now, go and visit with your daughter, Anardil, and try not to find something to be hard on her about. The girl is much too serious, you know."

"Yes, my lord," Anardil said, and he walked away. He no longer needed his walking stick, and except for a bit of stiffness, which caused the slightest of limps, he was indeed back to ranger health.

As soon as Anardil was gone from the veranda, Elrond turned to his sons. They had risen when Elrond had made his decree, and their beaming smiles told the story of how they felt about seeing Estel again.

"The two of you I would like to accompany Anardil," Elrond said. "I think Estel will not refuse such a summons from me, but just in case he has any ideas about the importance of my council, I wish you to persuade him by whatever means necessary, that he had better make haste in getting back here. I gave him two weeks. Hopefully, he will be easily found, and it won't take all that time simply to locate the man. I want him to see Jeren, get to know her, and realize that Imladris is the place she should be. I would hate to begin war with the Dunedain over one of their own, but who knows? It may just come to that."

All three Elves laughed, and Elrond hugged his sons to him. He sincerely hoped he could talk sense into Estel. Anardil was going to be difficult to convince that Jeren's place was here. Deep in his heart, Elrond knew Aragorn would not be easily swayed either. Since his realization of his birthright, Aragorn had learned all there was to know of his ancestry, and was rightfully very proud of his heritage, for the most part. He would not treat this lightly at all.

"We have done it again, have we not, Father?" Elrohir asked casually.

"We have done what, Elrohir?" Elrond replied.

"We have fallen in love with another human, unfortunately," was his son's melancholy answer.

"We most certainly have, Brother," Elladan chimed in.

"We most assuredly have," Elrond said with certainty.


	11. Moving Onward and Upward

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Anardil watched his daughter as she lay sleeping, the bruises on her face faded and almost completely gone now. Elrond had removed the stitches from the cut extending a few inches from the corner of her left eye a few days ago, and a fairly dark red scar remained at this time, along with the remnants of a yellow-black bruise. Jeren was beginning to resemble the girl she once had been, but Anardil knew that _that_ girl was gone forever—and it was his fault she was no longer here.

It seemed he had been concentrating on her too intently, and the force of it touched her and had awakened her. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she recognized her father. She idolized the man—something he did not understand—and she smiled at him as she woke.

"Hello, Papa," Jeren said sleepily. "I hope you are not still angry with me."

"No, Jeren," he said solemnly. "I am not angry with you. I was not angry with you before. I spend most of my time angry with myself, and for some reason unknown to me, I take it out on you. I have for many years now. I am sorry for that."

There. He had never been able to admit it to anyone other than himself before, but there were many times in Jeren's life when he had been much too hard on her. Perhaps this was a step in the right direction.

_Too hard? No. Cruel was more like it._

He told himself at the time that he only had her best interests at heart, but when he was alone on patrol or on watch on a cold night, with naught but a lit bowl of pipeweed and his horse for company, the truth would come screaming straight at him and stare him right in the face. He hurt so badly inside sometimes, he simply wanted someone to be hurting with him.

_How was that for being a fine father?_

"Papa," Jeren said with determination in her voice, "I would speak with you about something."

"What would be on your mind today, young Jeren?" he asked. Yes, he had made mistakes with his daughter in the past. However, it seems that by some miracle, he was getting another chance with her. She was nearly taken from him almost three weeks ago, and he would not waste another moment of his time treating her with anything but the dignity and kindness a daughter of his deserved.

"I wonder what is to become of me, Papa," she said. "I always believed I would be married someday and have a family. But no man will want me now. I am ruined and unfit for a decent man, Papa. What does a woman who does not marry become, Papa? Thinking of this makes me afraid."

"Be not afraid, Jeren," her father soothed. "You've many years before this becomes an issue; do not dwell on this now. For now, you must concentrate on healing—both your body and your mind." Anardil wondered where these pearls of wisdom were coming from, but he felt he was giving his daughter good counsel; things important for her to hear and take heed of. "I have been thinking of your dear mother quite a bit of late—in fact, I believe tis she who is guiding my words that I speak to you now. You are sixteen. One month shy of seventeen, is that not right?"

At Jeren's nod, Anardil continued. "For a Dunedain woman, that is still _very_ young. You recall our talks of our ancestors, do you not? How it is not unusual for one of our people to live to be well over one hundred fifty? You see how seventeen is still so far from majority yet?"

"Yes, Papa," Jeren replied, relief slowly seeping into her expression.

"You still have so much of life ahead of you," Anardil said. "The Dunedain live very hard lives. Raids by Orcs are not uncommon on the homesteads, Jeren, and neither is rape by them a stranger to our women, unfortunately. However, few of their victims usually live, so you are a rarity, my sweetness, in that respect. I would venture to say, that when the time comes for you to find a man to spend your life with, you will have no trouble finding one of the Dunedain rangers to snap you up willingly, no matter what you have been through. I cannot promise this, but knowing the men of the rangers like I do, I could almost swear it to you. You believe me in this, do you not?"

Jeren smiled. "I do, Papa," she said, "I really do. Thank you for speaking with me. You have made me feel better."

Anardil smiled, glad that for once in his life as a father, he had put a true smile on the face of his daughter. A smile he had really earned for a change.

"Now, I have something that may take the smile from your face, unfortunately," Anardil said with remorse. "I so liked the fact that I was able to place a smile there for once, and it looks as if I will take it away once more."

Jeren's brows knit together with trepidation, wondering just what her father could be referring to.

"I will be leaving at first light, to resume duty," he said.

"That does not make me frown," Jeren said quickly. "That makes me smile, for that piece of news obviously makes you a happy man again."

"You did not let me finish," Anardil continued. "I will be going to deliver a summons to Council for the Dunedain Chieftain. Lord Elrond wishes to hold a council in regards to where you will be going once you are well enough to leave Imladris."

"What has the Chieftain to do with it?" Jeren asked, puzzled. "Why can you not just decide?"

"What would you have me decide, Jeren? Anardil asked. "What are my options? Have you thought about where you would go, when you can leave Rivendell?"

Jeren frowned, for the truth was, she had not thought about it until now. Where would she go? This was a much more pressing problem than whether or not she would find a man to marry her! She definitely would never go back to the house in the Angle! There were too many horrible memories there for her. What _was_ she going to do?

"Papa!" Jeren whispered. "Where _am _I going to go?"

"That is what I need to speak with Aragorn about," Anardil answered. "I have thought long on the options, Jeren. You could go back to the house in the Angle—which I am completely against! _We_ could go back to the house in the Angle, which would mean I would retire from rangering, and stay at the homestead with you. Or, you could be placed with a Dunedain family, to live with them as one of their own. I would visit whenever I could—much the same as I did before, only it would not be our own house. That would be the ideal solution—at least from my point of view."

"What if I stayed here—in Imladris?" Jeren asked directly. "Is that not an option?"

"I am afraid it is not," Anardil replied resolutely.

"May I ask why it is not?" Jeren asked fearlessly.

"No," the ranger said sternly with fatherly authority. "You may not. It is not, because I say it is not. That is why."

Jeren looked at her father with accusing eyes, wondering where the newfound father of moments ago had gone suddenly. _He was certainly welcome while he remained_.

"Very well," Jeren said, dropping her eyes. "Have a safe journey, Papa."

"You are dismissing me?" Anardil asked incredulously.

Jeren paled, surprised by her cheek. She was still convalescing; she supposed she should not fear corporal punishment from her father at this point in time.

"Forgive me, Father," Jeren said, her head bowed. "I am simply surprised by all this sudden news you have imparted to me, and my head is in tumult. I knew not what I was saying or to whom I was speaking."

"Tis all right, Jeren," Anardil said, shame creeping into his voice and the kind father returning. "You have every right to be upset. I understand that. It is simply that the Elves have done so much for us as it is. I can hardly ask them for the charity of taking you in. Can you not see that?"

Jeren looked up at her father once more, glad to see him soften again.

"I can understand it, Papa," she replied. "But that does not make it any easier to accept living with strangers I know nothing about."

"You knew nothing of the Elves before they found you, Jeren," Anardil countered. "At least give Aragorn a chance, by talking to him."

"Of course I will do that, Papa," Jeren said. "You know that I will do anything you ask of me. You know that I will."

"All that I ask, Jeren," Anardil said with sincerity, "is that you at least listen. You have gone beyond the call of duty this time. I can no longer expect your blind devotion. It is not fair of me. I have been unfair to you too many times in your young lifetime, even though you do not see it that way. I know it seems as if I am apt to slip back into my old ways without so much as a moment's notice. Do know that I am trying to turn over a new leaf where parenting you is concerned." At her frown and her mouth about to open in protest, Anardil lifted his hand to halt her before she could speak. "I know what you would say, just do not say it. Trust your Papa in this, daughter. I do know best in this, it is true. I have been a tyrant to you. I want that to be no more." Jeren dropped her eyes once again, as if to agree in a way, though she never would voice to her Papa those words he had just said.

"I will go to find the Chieftain, we will listen to what he counsels, and probably take his advice even though it would not be popular with you. When you reach your majority, you may go whichever way your road may take you. If it leads you back here to Imladris that will be between you and Lord Elrond to decide. For now, while you are still my child to see after, I must do as I see is best. You see that, do you not daughter? Say that you do."

"Be not angry with me, Papa," Jeren said, her voice quiet but strong, "but I do not see it. I am happy here. I do not understand why I may not stay here, if Lord Elrond would permit it."

"I cannot continue to leech off of the Elves, Jeren," Anardil said earnestly.

"I see not the difference, Papa," Jeren replied. "Is charity not charity, whether given from the Elves or the Dunedain?"

"The difference is that the Dunedain are our people. _Our _people, Jeren," Anardil emphasized. "They are family. They are our own, and we do for each other."

"Are you saying then Papa, that if Elladan or Elrohir or Lord Elrond were hurt, and needed our help for a time, we would expect them to look elsewhere because they were not family?" Jeren pleaded.

"Jeren—" Anardil tried to reason with her.

"Papa, I mean it!" she insisted. "Answer the question! Would you turn them away? Would you give a second thought to giving them aid—for years if need be?"

Anardil's fist hit the bedside table with such force that the bottoms of the cup and the glass that rested there rattled against the wooden surface, and Jeren jumped at the suddenness of the noise.

However, instead of a raised voice from Anardil, his daughter could almost not hear his words.

"Of course I would not turn them away," he said. His voice was unsteady as he continued. "Jeren, think you that any of this is easy for me? Do you think I enjoy hurting you—making your life misery? I do not, you know. I am your father. I love you with all of my heart, and the knife that was plunged into it when your mother died, gets plunged just a bit deeper with every hurt that gets inflicted upon you, whether it is done by Orcs or by me." By now, Anardil's tears could not be stopped, and they were running freely down his face. "I am sorry for all that has befallen you. If I could have had any of it befall me instead, I would have had it done to me gladly. And now you are confronted with this. I truly know not what else to do. I'll not leave you alone ever again. I want not to accept the charity of the Elves. There are fine and generous family members who will be glad to take you in, will you but give them the chance—"

Anardil stood abruptly, clearing his throat and scrubbing at his face with one hand. He turned away from her for a few moments, trying to collect himself once again. When he again had his emotions under control, he moved to face her.

"I am sorry, Jeren," he said, his voice no longer weak or unsteady. "A daughter needs her father to be strong for her, and I have failed you yet again. I will be going now, and will probably not be seeing you before I leave on the morrow. You be good for Lord Elrond, and continue to feel better all right? I love you, my daughter. Whatever happens, always remember that, will you do that for me?"

The ranger did not even wait for an answer from his daughter, he simply walked away. Jeren had started crying when her father had, and her tears had only increased as he prepared to leave. When Anardil reached the door, he turned one last time to gaze upon his daughter. He looked at her sadly for a few moments, then he slipped quietly from the room.

As soon as Elrond opened the door to enter Jeren's room, he wondered if Anardil had been 'at it' again. The girl was in tears. He steered Elladan and Elrohir toward the door of the Healing Halls, wanting to speak to Jeren alone. He quietly approached her bed, not meaning to startle her, but doing so, just the same.

"Jeren—" he said quietly.

The girl jumped at the suddenness of his voice, and grimaced from the pain it brought. Elrond went to the cupboard by the door, and retrieved a few clean cloths, then returned to Jeren, sitting beside her on the bed. He smoothed the hair away from her face, and dried her eyes with one of the cloths he'd just obtained. It seemed a fruitless gesture, for her tears continued to fall.

"Would you care to speak about it?" the Elf lord inquired.

"It will change nothing," Jeren replied brokenly.

"That matters not," he said. "Tears are tears—they care not about change. They care only for venting rage and sorrow."

"Papa is going to send me away," Jeren said sadly, just above a whisper.

"Perhaps not," Elrond said lovingly. "One never knows how these things may turn out. I happen to know the Chieftain of the Dunedain rather personally, you know."

"You know of Papa's plans?" Jeren asked, brightening somewhat.

"Know of them?" Elrond said sneakily. "I made them myself."

Jeren's eyes narrowed. "So it is your idea to get rid of me?" she asked in disbelief.

Elrond's eyebrows scowled in anger.

"Of course I had no such idea!" he replied testily. "It is my plan to get the Dunedain Chieftain here, so that he may see you thriving so well, he will not have the heart to take you away." By the end of his sentence, his eyebrows were no longer scowling, they were raised, and his mouth was smiling in a rather conspiratorial way.

Jeren started to smile, then her countenance fell once again. "Papa will never allow it, you know."

"And why would you say such a thing?" Elrond inquired.

"I should not say," Jeren admitted, somewhat abashed that she had even said such a thing at all.

"No, Jeren, you must say now," Elrond demanded. "I insist."

"He says that for me to remain here would be charity," Jeren said shyly. "And he is right. I should go. I detest taking advantage like I am doing. I just love you all so much, I do not want to leave, that is all."

Elrond smoothed Jeren's covers around her gently, reminded of how it felt to be a parent to a child again, even if she technically was not his to parent. He already felt as if he could not love her more had she not been the fruit of his own body. _How did he let these things happen?_

"You, young lady, are still in recovery," he said kindly, "and as your healer, I am telling you that you are not to worry about anything, least of all this. In the first place, the council—whether they find Estel sooner or not—is not set until two weeks from now, and will not be held a moment sooner than that, so you will be worrying very prematurely at any rate, if you continue to do so."

He ceased his fussing with her covers, and simply sat beside her as he continued to reassure her.

"In the second place," he said sweetly, "I want you to not go. It is very selfish of me, but I have grown accustomed to your beautiful face and charming voice, and it would grieve me to be deprived of it. So any charity to be granted would be granted to me, were you to agree to stay."

Jeren's face began to beam, but at the same time, her eyes filled with tears.

"Are you speaking truthfully?" she gasped, unable to believe the Elf lord may have such feeling for a lowly human such as herself.

Elrond pulled his spine up very straight, as if offended, and his eyes flashed in feigned outrage.

"Would you dare to doubt me—Elrond, Lord of Imladris?" he asked in his most formidable of voices.

Jeren laughed and then groaned, and then laughed again, knowing he was teasing her.

"I love it when you are smiling, Jeren," he said. "You should never weep—only smile at all times."

She chuckled again, holding her arms around her waist, trying to stop the pain in her ribs. Truthfully, the pain was not as bad as it had been at first, but it did still hurt to laugh.

"Whatever happens, Lord Elrond," Jeren said in a much happier mood, "I will always be glad to have met you, and to have become friends with you. I hope we are always friends. Forever."

"We shall always be friends, Jeren," Elrond said with conviction. "Have no doubt of that. No matter how this turns out with Estel, in the future, you will always have a place here in my house. Always."

"Thank you, my lord," Jeren said, smiling. Then her eyebrows came together in a frown as she considered something that confused her. "You keep mentioning someone named 'Estel'. Who do you speak of? You speak of them as if I should know who you mean."

"You do know who I am speaking of," Elrond replied, "you simply know him by another name. I speak of the Dunedain Chieftain, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. His father, you may or may not know, was slain when he was but a very small child, and his mother and he were brought here to Imladris, where he was raised. To keep his identity secret from those who had no business knowing it, I gave to him an Elvish name—Estel, by which he was known when he resided here. It means 'hope' in our language."

"Tis a beautiful name," Jeren observed. "He was given sanctuary here? He was not fostered among our people?"

"No, but there was a very good reason for that," Elrond explained. "One that I am still not at liberty to discuss, I am afraid."

"The Chieftain is a very mysterious man, is he not?" Jeren asked.

"That he is," Elrond replied. "That he is. Now, my fine young patient. Are you ready to perhaps be fitted with that brace I was speaking to you of earlier?"

"Whatever the healer wishes, I will comply with," Jeren said amiably.

"Good," Elrond said, and he rose and began rolling up his sleeves. He gathered the strips of cloth and other supplies he would need, and sat in the chair next to her bed and began to assemble her new 'harness'. It wasn't long before he had the contraption completed, and he held it up with a flourish. Jeren could not imagine what he was so proud of—it looked like a primitive torture device to her—or some sort of prank Elrohir may devise with which to tease her.

"Now, my dear," Elrond said gently, "I will remove this bandaging and place this brace on your shoulders. If you can withstand the pressure needed to keep the clavicle stable, the need to tie your arms down will be no more."

"I will be able to withstand the pressure," Jeren said positively. "Perhaps with the aid of your healing sleep?" she added with his look of extreme skepticism.

He looked kindly at his charge and said, "Jeren, as much as I would like to take all your pain away with healing sleep, it is not in your best interest to do so. You need your natural sleep to heal you, as well."

"I do?" she asked. "I supposed my sleep was inferior to your healing sleep; after all, it is produced by a mere mortal."

The girl had said this with such disdain for herself it made Elrond cringe. Elves had a tendency to flaunt their superiority under humans' noses, and he supposed it could color a human's perspective—especially one as young as Jeren was—resulting in them disdaining themselves in this way. However, humans also reacted in another way. It was not uncommon for humans and other mortals to show great disdain for the Firstborn, and this was one of the major reasons why: Elves had an attitude—an always not so wonderful attitude—of superiority, when it came to other races. No matter that it was correct, Elves should not lord it over their lesser brothers. That bred discontent.

"Jeren, love," Elrond said, trying to explain so that she understood, "your human sleep is terribly important. You did hear what I called it, did you not? _Human_ sleep. Your body and your mind depend on it to heal and refresh your body—your _human_ body. Jeren, be not ashamed of what you are! All the races were created for their own purpose here on Middle Earth. I can fulfill your purpose no better than you can fulfill mine."

"Forgive me, my lord," Jeren said, "I meant no offense."

Elrond grew exasperated with the girl.

"Jeren!" he said. "An apology was not what I was wanting!"

Jeren's face took on a frown, for she was definitely confused as to what the Elf lord was fishing for.

"Then what is it you want, Lord Elrond?" she asked plaintively.

"To tickle you!" he said, placing his knee on the bed and attacking her gently, collapsing her back while holding her softly, so that she was laying on the mattress once more. He only touched his fingers against her sides for an instant, for making her laugh was a mean thing to do. Her ribs were healing, but would be painful for a few more weeks. And truthfully, it was not only her ribs that made laughing difficult; it was also the broken clavicle. She just simply wasn't aware of it.

"I could not resist, Jeren," he said, laughing. "And now seeing how I will probably torture you, should you be allowed to stay in Imladris, you will probably go gladly once Estel speaks with you."

"My mother used to do that, when I was smaller," Jeren said, beaming from ear to ear. "But I am much older now, sir, and I find ways of retaliation. It may not seem proper, you being who you are and all, but being a woman of the Dunedain, I cannot let a slight such as that go unavenged, do you not agree?"

Elrond straightened up, but still kept one knee on the bed. He regarded her with narrowed eyes, and when he finally decided to speak, one eyebrow rose.

"Retaliation, my dear Jeren?" he said. "Were I you, I would speak to my sons of the penalties regarding seeking retaliation against a father figure. They may have a thing or two to tell you of this particular error you have mentioned committing. However, you had best hurry. They leave at first light with your father."

Jeren placed a like expression on her face, one of calculated consideration. After a few moments thought, she likewise replied.

"In that case," she said, "you had better truss me up one way or another. Either place that torture device upon my shoulders, or tie me up unfairly. But either way, I ask your leave to wander the halls in search of your sons. It seems I have some plotting to do, and not near enough time in which to do it!"


	12. Taking Things to New Heights

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Elrond did indeed fit Jeren with the brace across her shoulders. It was a cloth brace, so was comfortable in that respect—but only in that respect. True to her form, she was very hard to read, in regards to exactly how much it pained her, but with her persistent whining, she was able to convince the Elf lord to tighten it to his satisfaction, that he did not need to tie down her arms any more. The very next day she was given her own room, Elrond deeming her well enough to be on her own. She knew it not at the time, but he had placed her in his own daughter's old room, right next to his—in the wing the family occupied in the Last Homely House.

Jeren was awe-struck when she stepped into the room with Naith. The room was huge—almost as big as the entire house in the Angle! It was open on one wall, showing a view of the valley that she'd never seen before. When she had been brought to Imladris, she had not been fit to see anything, and ever since then, she had barely been out of her bed in the healing halls. It was beautiful here!

The furniture was a rich, burnished wood, polished to perfection. The bed also was huge and across the foot of it—on top of the wonderful counterpane that was its usual covering—lay her mother's old quilt, freshly laundered, just waiting for her. The polished wood floor was covered by a thick rug that Jeren's feet sunk into as she walked across it—like walking on a cloud!

Then Naith showed her the bathing room, which was a surprise. It was fairly plain, but it was likewise very large. _Whoever had a bathing room all to themselves? _She had certainly never dreamed of such a thing! The girl was overwhelmed, that's what she was!

The twins and Anardil had gone over a week ago now, but Jeren had been kept busy at quiet work found for her by Elrond. Of course she did not always know it came from him; the favors requested of her came from Daeron and Naith. So far, one of the things she had been down to the kitchens to do was to help pare fruit. This she did by Daeron's request, and she did it in short shifts—she could not use her arms for long spells. The pain in her shoulders from the break in her bone would become too great and she would have to rest. But Elrond deemed the exercise good for her recovery, as it would begin to strengthen her muscles and likewise her bones. She did whatever was asked of her. In her mind, if she helped to earn her keep, the Elves would not be giving her complete charity, as her father seemed to think they would be.

She liked being in the kitchen—as far as kitchen work went. The Elves were on the whole jolly workers and laughed quite often. Jeren found that the brace, while restricting and tiresome, did help the pain of laughter somewhat, so while it did still hurt to give a good belly laugh, she could now at least chuckle with ease.

Besides kitchen work, Naith bade Jeren to help her in Lord Elrond's study. Jeren liked this very much. Besides being near the Lord of Imladris—whom she was coming to love more every day—she was usually called upon to carry messages from the Elf lord to other Elves in different parts of Imladris. Not only did she learn her way around, she was able to see many beautiful sights and meet many of the other Elves. She also accomplished another goal Elrond set for her—much walking, to rebuild her stamina. _He was a sneaky Elf, was he not?_

Eight days after Anardil had gone to find Aragorn for the Council, he and the twins returned with the Chieftain in tow. Jeren had gone down to the armory, taking a message to Glorfindel, that Elrond needed to see him post haste. Jeren was returning to Elrond with Glorfindel at her side, when the four riders cantered up the path leading to the Elven lord's home.

"Well met, Estel!" Glorfindel called with a huge grin on his face. He went forward to greet his old charge in a warm embrace, before the Dunedain Chieftain had quite finished dismounting from his horse.

Aragorn returned Glorfindel's affection, squeezing him tightly, and said, "Well met, yourself. You look as well as ever—not a day over seven thousand!" They both laughed at that.

Anardil joined Jeren as she stood a little off to the side, feeling timid and not knowing exactly how to act or what to say. Her father said nothing; he just stood quietly at her side. Jeren thought back to nine days ago, how he looked when she last saw him. His face had been ashen with sorrow, and she was in tears at not knowing where she would live or with whom, when her only wish was to remain with those she now held very dear. Now Jeren noted Anardil looked much better—he was all smiles and happiness, although not much of it seemed directed at her. She was much more reticent than he was, and hoped to remain unobtrusive—perhaps go unnoticed altogether for the time being. Of course that would have been too much to hope for, had she been but thinking things through. Elrohir was here, after all. When had he ever let her go unscathed, when there was teasing to be done or embarrassment to mete out?

"Estel," Elrohir said with a smile, "meet Jeren, Anardil's daughter—the reason you are being dragged back to Imladris against your will."

Jeren knew her face was flaming—she could feel its heat clear up to her hairline. Aragorn turned his handsome face on her then, his smile faded only faintly as he appraised her.

"Well met, Jeren," he said quietly, and he dipped his head to her slightly. "I would that we had met sooner, under better circumstances than these. How are you faring?"

"Tis my honor to meet you, my lord," Jeren said as she bowed, though somewhat stiffly. "I fare very well. Lord Elrond has healed me—almost completely. Just a few more weeks until my bones will be mended, he says."

"That is good," Aragorn replied. Then he turned back to the others, and smiling widely once again, said, "I am ready to wash all this grime away and greet Elrond. What say we go inside and get comfortable? Perhaps find a meal?"

They all began talking at once as they filed up the wide, expansive stairway at the entrance to the house. Anardil held out his arm before Jeren, that she might precede him, so she timidly walked ahead of her father. Jeren bowed her head, bit her lip, and continued walking up the stairs.

_And so it begins. What will he say? What will he do?_

She had no answers, only questions. And it seemed that praying was the only thing that may turn the outcome in her favor.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren returned to Elrond's study—without Glorfindel. When Elrond questioned her about the other Elf's absence, she informed him that her father had returned and his mission had been successful.

"Ah, so Estel is here, then?" Elrond asked curiously. "And you met him?"

"Yes, my lord," Jeren replied. "I did." She did not elaborate more on her meeting with the Chieftain. She truly knew not what else to say.

"Well?" Elrond asked, a bit put out at having to drag information from the girl. "How did he seem?"

"He seemed well, Lord Elrond," Jeren said wanly. "Is that what you mean?"

"No!" he replied, exasperated, but with a fairly large smile on his face for 'his' girl in spite of her vagueness. "I meant, what did _you_ think? Does he seem such an ogre, that we may not be able to sway him to allow you to remain here in Imladris?"

"I truly know not, my lord," Jeren replied with honesty. "You know him much better than I do. I could not tell by the few questions he asked me whether he is an ogre or not."

"I should hope you could tell I am not, even with the asking of a few short questions, my lady," Aragorn put in from the doorway.

Jeren whirled around to face the Chieftain, and in so doing lost her balance and stepped backward. That turned out to be a mistake; directly behind her was a plant stand, upon which a fern of large girth proudly held out its many fronds for all to admire. Jeren, the plant stand, and the fern, all fell back into a heap on the floor with a noisy crash, making a huge mess—and Elrond's face went white with alarm as he feared what harm may have come to the recuperating girl. Aragorn had likewise been stunned by the turn of events, having no idea he would startle her so easily.

Elrond quickly knelt next to the dazed girl, who had already begun to murmur her deepest apologies for ruining the fern. Aragorn was kneeling beside her as well, concern etched in lines between his brows, as he quickly scanned her for cuts from the broken pottery the fern had been planted in.

"Lord Elrond!" she wailed. "Please forgive me! I've ruined it. How can I ever make it right? I am so sorry. So very sorry." She was struggling to rise, but the two healers held her down, knowing she could have hurt herself badly in such a fall. She had fallen upon solid objects, after all, even though they had ultimately broken. She may be harboring deep cuts on her back, or more broken bones, for all they knew.

"Jeren, calm yourself, please," Elrond said sedately, placing as serene a smile on his face as his alarm would allow him. "'Tis nothing that cannot be put to rights easily. The important thing is whether you have hurt yourself or not. No, do not rise. Stay where you are, until I can determine if you are still in one piece, young lady."

After ascertaining that she had no bad cuts on her person, nor no new breaks of bones, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and carried her to a couch, which was set with a group of chairs and a table against one of the walls of his study. Laying her down gently, he untied the first few ties of her tunic, so that he could gain access to the brace and the break in her clavicle more easily. He untied the brace, and lifted it slightly away from where the break was, first looking at the site carefully. He then, with gentle fingers, touched the place where the scar on her skin now highlighted the break in the bone. He looked in her eyes as he did so, and smiled, then looked back to his task. He was finally satisfied that she had not undone anything that had so far been carefully healing, so he retied the brace and left her to tie her tunic once more. Aragorn had drawn one of the chairs that sat with the couch closer to Jeren, so that he may help Elrond if need be, with the healing of the girl.

"Do you hurt anywhere else, Jeren?" Aragorn asked before he would allow her to rise.

"No, my lord," she answered, "simply my pride. If you will let me rise now, I will find something to clean up that mess. I am so very sorry I ruined the plant."

"It was an accident, Jeren," Elrond told her, "and no, you will not clean it yourself. Go and fetch Daeron, and he can take care of it. I then deem it time for you to ready yourself for dinner tonight. Naith is going to be helping you, so do not give her any grief. I hope I am making myself clear?"

"I understand, my lord," Jeren replied. "Whatever you have put her in charge of in regards to me must be terribly bad, if you are advising me to be good already. The list of my trespasses is long as it is. Papa will no doubt have much punishment for me. I think I will not be giving Naith trouble about anything, no matter what it will be."

Elrond pursed his lips at Jeren's reference to Anardil and his meting out of punishment. When he detected a surprised question on Aragorn's face, he exchanged looks with his son, silently telling him he would explain all at another time.

Jeren rose from the couch and steadied herself. She was still somewhat dizzy. She then bowed to Elrond and then turned to Aragorn. "My sincerest apologies for being fresh to you, Chieftain; you have my utmost respect at all times. Truly you do." With that, Jeren turned on her heel, leaving to do Elrond's bidding, not giving Aragorn the chance to say a word to her—to tell her that no offense was taken. That indeed, he could take a jest the same as any man could.

"She leaves me speechless," Aragorn said with a wry smile.

"She has that effect on many," Elrond admitted. Then turning to his foster son, his eyes softened and he said gently, "Come here, Estel."

Aragorn got up from his chair as Elrond did and was enfolded into a warm embrace by the Elf lord. It did not matter to Elrond that Aragorn had weeks of filth on him, and that his Elven senses were being assaulted most harshly by the stench of him. He was holding his son again and at this moment, that was all that mattered to him.

"I have missed you," Elrond said with a shaking voice. "How come you to stay away for so long?"

"I am sorry, Father," Aragorn said with a like tremor to his speech. "At first it was simply learning the ways of my people. Immersing myself in their culture—becoming one of them. After that, it was a sense of duty to them, and it became harder and harder to leave. That is all that it was. It was never from a sense of not wanting to see you or being here. I promise you. It was never that."

Elrond drew away and straightened his spine, becoming the Lord of Imladris once again; trying to chase the hurting father out of his mind. His son was home now and that was a cause for celebration.

"You must be tired," Elrond said quietly. "And I can tell you, _you_ need a bath! Why do you not go to your room, get refreshed, have some food and we will speak at length later at the evening meal. What do you say to that, Estel?"

"I say that sounds very good, Father," Aragorn replied. "Perhaps later we might return here and you can fill me in on Jeren and her situation in a littler more in detail. But not until I have done all the other things you have mentioned first. As usual, you really know how to plan out my day!"

Elrond laughed and walked Aragorn to the door, upon which someone knocked just as the Elf lord reached for the knob. He stepped back a half step and opened the door, to find Daeron with a broom and a bucket to clear away the remnants of Jeren's accident. He allowed the young Elf into the room, and with a pat on Aragorn's back, sent him on his way. He closed the door once again and turned to help Daeren, crouching to begin scooping up pieces of pottery and dropping them into the bucket.

_This fern had been in this very place for a hundred years. Jeren has been here but a few short weeks, and has reduced a hundred year's growth into tomorrow's trash. What a whirlwind that child is. And I would not trade her for a score of one hundred-year-old ferns._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had to bite her tongue to keep from arguing with Naith—or at the very least not to whine—about the gown she was expected to put on for the evening meal. She lost all her appetite, which had become considerable as the weeks had gone by, when Naith had brought the dress out of the wardrobe and laid it across the bed, announcing to Jeren it was Elrond's wish that she be so attired at the table tonight. Not only that, Naith had insisted that Jeren's newly washed and dried hair had to be worn up and not down, as was her usual way. Jeren wished she had not promised the Elf lord she would give Naith no grief. She wanted to scream in protest at the unfairness of it all.

As soon as Jeren had been moved from the halls of healing, and no longer took her meals in her bed, she had been invited to eat in the dining room with Elrond, who was also joined at mealtimes by Glorfindel and Naith and Erestor, as well. Jeren had not met Erestor until the first time she had dined with the others. He was a delightful Elf, seeming older than the twins, but much younger than Elrond or Glorfindel. Erestor was in charge of housekeeping, it would seem. He oversaw the kitchen, and the laundry and just about everything else that kept the Last Homely House running smoothly. Jeren liked him on sight and he acted as if his feeling for her was mutual as well.

Since Jeren had promised, she endured Naith's fussing and did not whine or complain as she was transformed into what Jeren felt was an abomination of herself. She sat before a mirror as Naith combed and braided her hair, using hairpins to fasten the plaits into place on top of her head.

"Jeren, 'tis not the end of the world," Naith said kindly. "You look beautiful, truly. You simply are not used to seeing yourself in this way. Trust your Naith in this please; I would not dress you and fix your hair in such a way as to invite ridicule, would I? You know I would not."

Jeren dropped her eyes, unwilling to look at her visage in the mirror any longer. She was wearing a gown, which she was not used to. At least Lord Elrond had allowed her to go without the brace for the evening; at least that bulky thing would not be making bulges and bunches under the bodice of the dress where it usually lay across her shoulders. Her hair was all fancy and braided—she did not even resemble herself at all. Perhaps that was why the Lord of Imladris was making her do this. So she would not be so hard on the eyes of those who must look upon her.

"I suppose I know that," she admitted. She said nothing else.

Naith laid the brush down on the tabletop and gave Jeren's hair one last pat. She had done as Elrond asked. Jeren was supremely unhappy about the result. Naith had not anticipated such a dramatic reaction. She had expected Jeren not to like it much, but she had not expected her to retreat into herself as she had. It made Naith decidedly uneasy—when Jeren became so introspective, it usually ended badly for her, emotionally at least. Naith sent a prayer to the Valar that Elrohir would see fit to not tease Jeren tonight of all nights. One unkind remark—even meant in jest—would send her dissolving into tears; Naith could just envision it happening. She placed her hand on Jeren's shoulder and guided her toward the door.

"It is time to go down to the dining room now," Naith said. "Lord Elrond said promptly at seven."

Jeren suddenly stopped and looked at Naith in panic.

"I cannot, Naith," she said tremulously. "I just cannot. Tell him I am sick. Tell him I have taken to my bed and am sleeping. I do not care what you tell him, Naith, I just cannot go down there looking like this. Someone is going to make fun of me; I just know that they are. I have never been beautiful or even comely at all, so pretending is simply making it worse, do you not see that? I am sorry Lord Elrond does not find me pretty enough for his guests, so I will just stay here. Tell him I am sick, Naith; please do this for me. Please?"

"Oh Jeren," Naith said with alarm, "is that what you think? That Elrond thinks you not pretty enough to sit at the same table with Estel? If the thought were not so sad, I would be laughing right now!" Naith hugged Jeren to her, still mindful that she did not have her brace across her shoulders. She stroked her back and rocked her slightly as she continued to reassure her. "Jeren, nothing could be further from the truth, sweetheart. Elrond simply wants you to dress up, to feel special, that is all. Never ever think he finds you anything but beautiful, Jeren; that is what you are."

"You are speaking to me truthfully?" Jeren asked quietly.

"Have I ever tried to lie to you, Jeren?" Naith asked the girl.

"No," Jeren replied. "But Naith, it will seem as if I am putting on airs or some such nonsense. I must look like a jester in a costume made up in this way. I feel so self conscious—the others will think ill of me; thinking that if I go through some motions, then by magic I think I will be beautiful. But in reality, I will still be an ugly girl with a costume on, which people will know for the farce that it is—"

"Enough, Jeren," Naith interrupted her ongoing rush of words. "No one here in this house will think any such thing. You are letting your imagination run wild with you. There is but one oaf here in this house who may have the nerve to make fun at your expense, and you know who I am speaking of."

"Elrohir," Jeren said confidently.

"Elrohir," Naith echoed her. "If he teases you, ignore him, or put him in his place. I am telling you that you have nothing to feel self-conscious about. You just told me I have never lied to you. I am not lying to you now, either. You look beautiful, and if I think so, the others will definitely think so as well. So quit this panic you are putting yourself through, and let us go down to the dining hall. We are going to be late."

Jeren nodded and smiled wanly. "All right, Naith. But please, stay close by me. I fear I may faint from the fright of it all and I am already bruised from killing the fern in Lord Elrond's study."

Naith chuckled lightly and steered Jeren toward the door, promising not to leave the girl's side. They made their way through the corridors of the house and arrived at the dining hall in plenty of time to meet the Lord of Imladris' deadline of seven sharp. In fact, they were the first ones there.

Jeren was happy for that. She would not be making any grand entrance and that was a great relief for her. She and Naith sat in their usual places, with Jeren directly to Elrond's left at the table. The wine steward, whom Jeren knew from working in the kitchen, came in and filled the two ladies' glasses, admiring Jeren's new look. This helped build Jeren's confidence immensely. The Elf in charge of the wine this night had no reason at all to tell her any untruth.

"See Jeren?" Naith said as the Elf left the room. "You look beautiful and you need not only take my word for it. Do you feel more at ease now?"

Jeren smiled at her friend and reached to touch her arm. "Thank you, Naith. You have made this impossible situation bearable. I owe you a huge debt. Anything you ask of me—anything at all—I will do and do gladly. I love you, Naith. Knowing you has been like having a sister. I never had a sister before, and I find it to be a wonderful thing."

Their attention was drawn to the doorway when Elladan and Elrohir, along with Elrond and Glorfindel entered the room. They had been talking and laughing animatedly, but quieted quickly when they noticed the room was not empty. They all made their ways to their seats, except Elrohir, who, when he spied Jeren, went directly to her side. He extended his hand to her, taking hers in his, and compelled her to stand. Jeren cringed. She could hear the sarcasm beginning before the Elf even began to speak.

"Jeren," Elrohir said admiringly, "stand please, that we may have a better look at you, young lady."

Jeren accepted Elrohir's hand and rose, but was completely surprised when he twirled her very slowly, admiring her from all directions, before he stopped and held her at arm's length in front of him. "You are absolutely stunning tonight, Jeren," he said with respect. He then helped her back into her seat, with nary a word of ridicule or embarrassment.

Jeren could not help it; she was beaming at the praise. However, her joy was short-lived, for behind the foursome, came her father and Aragorn. They, too, had been in rapt discussion until then entered the room, but were soon stopped in their tracks at the sight of Jeren—but each for different reasons. Aragorn was smiling at the obvious pleasure the girl was having at being the center of attention. Anardil, on the other hand, was not smiling. He seemed chagrined at the sight of his daughter being in a place she should not be—at the table of the Lord of Imladris.

Anardil excused himself from Aragorn's side, and went to bend to Jeren's ear, hoping to speak so that only she could hear. He really meant not to embarrass his daughter, but protocol must be observed at all costs, at least in his eyes.

"Daughter, what are you doing in here? You should be eating in the kitchen," Anardil whispered. "Get yourself up and be gone from here now, before they begin serving."

"But Papa—" Jeren began, also whispering, but her father would not be talked back to.

"But nothing, daughter," he said more loudly. "Go now, and no more talk from you."

Jeren dutifully rose, bowed to Lord Elrond, but did not speak. She knew if she opened her mouth, her sobs would escape. She likewise bowed to Glorfindel, and Aragorn in turn, and lastly, dipped her head to her father, then beat a hasty retreat out of the dining room. As soon as she cleared the door, she began to run. The Elves had no trouble hearing neither her swift footfalls—nor her softly muffled sobs—as she made haste to her room.

Elrond closed his eyes and prayed to the Valar for the strength to resist strangling Anardil, then opened his eyes and glared at the ranger.

"Anardil," Elrond said icily, "Jeren was here because I invited her to be here. I wanted Estel to meet her."

"Aragorn met her previously," Anardil said stubbornly. "When we arrived, Jeren was outside to welcome us home."

Elrond said nothing more. He feared he would say something untoward and that would serve no one.

"Father," Elladan said, "I have just remembered something I must check into, and it cannot wait. I will return soon. Do not wait on me. Excuse me everyone." He rose from his chair and left the room, intent on finding Jeren. What Anardil had done was inexcusable and he could not leave Jeren alone right now with her thoughts of sadness.

He went to her room first, thinking to find her there. If he knew her like he thought he did, she would not have gone to the kitchen as her father had told her to. Even though the man thought he was being quiet, he should have remembered he was in the company of Elves. They had heard every word he had spoken. No, she would have lost her appetite completely with the embarrassment of being shamed by her father so badly, and would have sought refuge in the haven of her bedroom. And that is just exactly where he found her.

Jeren had run to her bedroom and had flung herself face first into the pillows of her bed. She knew she should have removed the beautiful dress first—she was surely getting it badly wrinkled—but she could not make herself move at the moment.

_How could her father have done such a thing? How?_

He had said he was trying to become a better parent, but the reverse seemed to be happening. All these years she had adored him. He could do no wrong in her eyes. After her mother had died, he had changed somewhat—had become harder to please and his punishments more severe. But Jeren had known that he only wanted for her to learn what she must to survive. The things that he taught her were a matter of life and death, and therefore the importance of the mistakes she made sometimes had to be literally beaten into her. She understood that. But tonight was not a matter of life and death. It mattered to no one but to her, and he had ruined it—simply because he could.

She was startled by a quiet knock on her door. She lay there in silence, and not a small bit of panic, for a few seconds.

"Please, Papa," Jeren said in a voice that trembled. "Punish me tomorrow. Please?"

"It is Elladan, Jeren," came the answer from the door. "Could I talk to you, please?"

Jeren didn't answer. She did not want to see or speak to anyone, she was so embarrassed. She had been reduced to a child and a servant in front of everyone.

_But why shouldn't she have been? That was what she was, after all._

She buried her face further into her pillows, willing the whole world to cease to exist. Everything was just too painful right now. Too painful.

She grimaced when she heard the door creak open. Elladan was coming in anyway. She lay very still. Perhaps she could feign sleep and he would simply go away. Then she could be left in her misery, to cry for as long as she felt like crying.

She did not hear his soft footsteps, of course, so she jumped when he sat on the bed beside her.

_So much for pretending to be asleep._ I will still ignore him. It will be rude, but at least he will know I meant it when I did not say he could enter my room.

Elladan sat there on the bed beside Jeren for a few minutes before he began to speak to her. He lay his hand upon her back in comfort. It felt really good to Jeren. It had been a long time since he had touched her, Jeren realized, as she lay there with him beside her.

"I am sorry your father acted as such an ass, Jeren," Elladan said kindly. "You truly looked beautiful sitting there all dressed up, with your hair up and braided. Did Naith put it up for you?"

Jeren turned over onto her back so that she may talk to him. She felt badly that her face must look a fright, all tear stained and blotchy from crying, but there wasn't much to do about that now.

"Yes, she did," Jeren said, her voice stronger. "She worked a miracle, did she not?"

Elladan chuckled, but said, "I think not a miracle, Jeren. I think she did nicely, but she had a beautiful girl with which to work, or she could not have done so wonderfully."

Jeren blushed at the compliment. "You're just saying that because I am sad."

"No I am not," Elladan said indignantly. "I am saying that because it is true. I knew your mother, you know, and you look quite a bit like her. She was beautiful, do you not think so?"

Jeren thought about that for a minute, and then answered. "I always thought she was beautiful, but I never thought about looking like her. Do you truly think that I do?"

"I certainly do think so," Elladan replied.

Jeren could not help herself, and she suddenly sat up and flung herself into Elladan's arms. She hugged herself to him tightly and her tears started anew.

"I miss her, Elladan," Jeren said quietly. "I miss her very much. Papa was a different person before she died. He was not so quick to anger or find fault. But that is not the only reason why I miss her. I miss her just because I need her. I need her to help me again, like she did when—I just need her is all."

Elladan hugged her in return, as tightly as he dared, trying to be careful of her still mending body. He had not meant to bring up haunting memories with the mention of her mother. He certainly hoped he had not made a huge mistake in this. Jeren had certainly been through enough for one day. His father had told Elrohir and him about the girl's collision with the fern in his study-that s startlement was what caused the accident to happen. Now Elladan wondered if Jeren was not again having some sort of remembrance of her fateful meeting with the Orcs over a month ago. He hoped she was not heading for another emotional breakdown concerning her ordeal, but if she was, they would be here for her—they would always be here for her.

Jeren sat there in the circle of the Elf's arms, soaking in his warmth, loving the way his silky hair felt against her cheek as she laid her face against it on his shoulder. She slowly realized that thoughts of her mother were being replaced by thoughts of Elladan—thoughts about how good it felt to be held by him. Thoughts about how good it would feel if he were to kiss her. She suddenly felt a surge of warmth in the pit of her belly—at least it felt like her belly, but she couldn't be sure. It was somewhere in that region. It was a feeling she had never experienced before, and she wasn't sure at the moment if it was a wonderful feeling or not. She thought it was, but could not be certain. She drew away somewhat from the Elf.

"I love you, Elladan," was out of her mouth before she knew she was going to say it.

"I love you too, Sweetling," Elladan replied, "just as I love my dear sister, Arwen."

Jeren wished he had not added the part about his sister. She knew now that was not how she was feeling about him any more. It had taken all this time, but she had finally come to realize it—she was in love with Elladan. But he only loved her as he would love his sister.

Deep in her heart, she knew it was enough for now. Just as she had fought the Orcs that fateful day—kicking and screaming and biting—she had not given in or given up. Somewhere and on some level, she believed she would change Elladan's love for her, from that of a brother to that of a lover.

At least, she aimed to try.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	13. The Mind is a Curious Thing

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

"It lives!" Jeren exclaimed, when she entered Elrond's study the following morning and the fern greeted her with its outstretched fronds once more. The plant was not nearly as full as it had been; indeed it looked bruised and bent in several places; but considering what it had been through, Jeren thought it looked very well. Elrond had instructed Daeron when they had gathered up the mess of its broken fronds and pieces of pot and piles of soil the previous afternoon, to wrap its roots in damp cloth until he could see to it this morning. As soon as he had been able, Elrond had taken it to one of the many potting sheds around Imladris, and had procured a new pot and some fresh soil in which to place the poor, ailing fern, in hopes to salvage it to live for perhaps another hundred years. Of course he had spoken to it quietly, and shared a bit of healing essence with it, which it appreciated very much, so he believed it would be fine. Especially if a certain young lady should see fit not to trip over it again. When the Lord of Imladris heard Jeren exclaim over the miracle of the fern, he smiled to himself as he sat at his desk reading and looked up to greet her.

"It certainly does live," he retorted, "and it told me to tell you that it would take someone far heavier than you to do it in!"

Jeren laughed lightly and took herself behind Elrond's desk to put her arms around his shoulders and plant a light kiss on his cheek. His smile grew just a fraction larger.

"I am so happy it did not die," she said with relief. "It was such a beautiful fern."

"Speak not of its beauty in the past tense," Elrond said from the corner of his mouth, as if trying to be secretive. "It might hear you and take offense."

Jeren laughed again. "Sorry," she emended. "What I meant to say was that I would have hated to see such a beautiful fern leave this study."

"That is better," the Elf lord said wryly, smiling once more.

"What will we be doing today, my lord?" Jeren asked him as she straightened up.

"More of the same, Jeren," he replied. "More of the same. I will have a few messages for you to deliver, and I believe you will be needed in the kitchen for a bit this morning. I think Estel may want to have a word with you at some point today. He will want to spend much time with you before the actual council takes place."

"Lord Elrond," Jeren said curiously, "if he sees me much before the council, what exactly will the council be about, then? Will not everything have been said beforehand?"

"The council will be for all parties involved—your father, you, me, Estel—to have our say as to what we believe would be the best thing for you; whether we believe you would benefit most by staying here in Imladris or being fostered with a Dunedain family. And then, the decision would be made as to where you will ultimately go."

"Who gets to make the decision?" Jeren asked solemnly, dreading what the answer may be. She thought she knew the answer, but she wasn't exactly sure.

"The ultimate decision is your father's," Elrond replied. "However, Estel can _strongly_ advise what he believes would be the best for you and I believe Anardil would abide by his advice."

"That is what I thought," Jeren said. "I am afraid, my lord. I do not want to leave here. It is selfish of me, I know; but I do not want to leave."

"You know my feelings on the subject, Jeren," Elrond told her. "They have not changed. I want you here." The Elf lord rose from his chair and directed her toward the door.

"Now it is time for morning meal," he said. "I, myself, am very hungry. I suspect you are ravenous. You did not eat at all last evening, did you?"

Jeren's head bowed in shame as she remembered her embarrassment and her father's part in it.

"No," she admitted. "I did not. I lost my appetite quickly—_for some reason_." Her sarcasm could not be missed. She looked up askance at Elrond and he chuckled at her remark. She smiled as well.

"Then let us go and feed you," he said, "you must nourish that body of yours, to make those mending bones strong."

"Yes, my lord," Jeren replied dutifully.

Elrond shook his head in frustration at her. He wondered if she ever truly stepped out of line intentionally, just for the sheer spite of it. When he thought of his own children, and the number of times they had been contrary during their lifetimes for just that reason, he smiled. These thoughts sent his mind on a trail in the direction of Anardil, concluding that Jeren's father was probably the cause of her strict adherence to the 'line' at all times, never straying far from the straight and narrow. She always spoke of her father's displeasure, and the punishment he would no doubt inflict upon her as the result of some misdeed she had accomplished. Misdeeds, which, in his opinion, usually bordered on imaginary at best.

They entered the dining room, greeting Glorfindel and Erestor, who were already seated, and took their customary places at the table. Elrond filled their cups with tea from the nearby teapot, which sat near to his hand, and they shared a bit of honey, stirring it into their respective cups. They each took sips from their tea, then shared satisfied smiles when the sweetness was to their liking, the warmth of the drink soothing to their palates. This was somewhat of a ritual they had acquired over the past week, and Jeren would be lying if she said she did not look forward to morning meal with the Lord of Imladris.

Elladan and Elrohir were the next to arrive, each greeting the other diners in turn before they seated themselves. Naith never ate morning meal, so Elrohir took her place, and Jeren was happy to have him close at hand this morning. The first thing he did was to wrap her up in a gentle hug.

"I never did get a proper greeting home from you, young lady," he said feigning slight. "The least you can do is give a brother a proper hug when he has been gone for over a week."

She returned his embrace, laughing as she did so.

"I am sorry, Elrohir," she replied. "Greetings to you, Brother. I hope your travels went well with you." She did not even think twice when considering Elrohir as a brother; she did not even wonder why she could not think of Elladan as one. Here the two were twins—more alike than not, and Jeren deemed herself in love with one of them. The other, she could never think of loving as anything _other_ than a brother. However, she was in too happy a frame of mind at the moment to ponder upon the complexities of such thinking.

"They did indeed," Elrohir said as he released her. "However, I did get stung by a bee, I sat on a nettle, and Estel smelled like a Warg when we finally found him. But all in all it was a fine trip."

Everyone at the table laughed at Elrohir's description of his 'fine trip', and the 'Warg comment' had not gone unheard by the one it had been uttered about. It seemed to Jeren as if the Chieftain of the Dunedain was an excellent ranger indeed. He could sneak up on people with the silence of an Elf!

"Hey!" Aragorn said belligerently as he entered the dining room, "is it my fault Human sweat smells, and Elven sweat does not? _No_, it is not! So kindly leave me be about it, I say, for the millionth time in my puny short life!"

Again, there was laughter all around, even Aragorn was laughing. The comment had been made so many times it had ceased upsetting him decades ago. As a child of ten, when such things seem to begin happening, the twins had begun teasing him about his stench after a day of hard playing outside. Of course, as soon as they realized it angered him righteously, they did it all the more. Aragorn finally went to Elrond when he could take the torture no longer; hoping there was some antidote to the poison fumes his body was putting out. His father told him that, alas, there was not; he was simply Human, and the stench was with him for good. All he could do was wash it away. It was something he was simply going to have to come to terms with, and the more he showed the twins their teasing him about it bothered him, the more they were going to abuse him about it. So, eventually, he had learned to overcome, and had even turned the tables on them, 'building up' a mighty stink on hunting trips—until he, himself could no longer stand the stench of it. The joke was on them.

Their lighthearted banter lasted not long; Anardil came in right behind Aragorn. That same look of the previous night, at finding Jeren seated at the dining table on Elrond's left, was on his face again this morning. Elrond saw Jeren stiffen out of the corner of his eye, and he readied himself for the boorish comment that would inevitably follow. He had not long to wait.

"Jeren," Anardil simply said.

The girl made as if to stand, but Elrond placed his hand upon her wrist that rested on the tablecloth.

"Anardil," Elrond said benignly, "good morning. Have a seat and join us for morning meal." He hoped his tone was not aggressive. He had no wish to start a war—yet—over rights to Jeren.

Since he was being met by glares from all around the room, Anardil fell quiet, and took his place at the table, his eyes not leaving his daughter. She, however, could not look at him. She was, for one thing, still very angry with him for embarrassing her last evening. For another, she was very afraid for again breaking his rules, even though she was not being given a choice. Lord Elrond's hand still rested upon her wrist, effectively keeping her at his side. All in all, the tension in the room was so thick, it could have been cut with a sword.

Aragorn seemed not affected by the mood and he began the passing of the dishes of food, starting the conversation going again. He asked Anardil of reports concerning the bandits that had overtaken him and his comrades, resulting in his injury that had brought him to Imladris not long ago. Jeren was thankful for the diversion of her father's gaze from her. It had seemed to have been boring holes clear through her, and the sensation had not been a pleasant one.

Before the meal was concluded—but Jeren had eaten mostly her fill—Elrond sent her on an errand, a good walking distance away, insisting that she start right then. She bowed to everyone and left. The Elf lord believed in leaving nothing to fate where Jeren was concerned. Having her well away from Anardil by the time morning meal was concluded seemed the best course of action, and he was proud of himself for thinking of it in time.

As everyone rose to go about their business of the day, Anardil stopped Elrond, asking for a moment of the Elf lord's time.

"I would speak to you, Elrond, if I may," he said respectfully, not a hint of anger or choler in his words at all.

"Of course, Anardil," Elrond replied amiably. "Walk me to my study, or would you prefer to wait until we are behind closed doors?"

"No, no," Anardil answered. "Walking will do. I simply want to apologize for Jeren. I am afraid she has wormed her way into your life, and you have felt coerced into including her along with your family. I hope that is not the case, but if it is, I ask your forgiveness on her behalf, and I assure you I will speak with her and tell her to cease her behavior at once."

"Quite the contrary, Anardil," Elrond assured the ranger. "She has been most reserved. I have been the one to draw her out; I invited her to my table, both last night and this morning. Actually, since two days after you departed, she has been dining with the rest of us in the dining room, per my request. I believe it does her no good to be alone so much. It gives her too much time to dwell upon things that may bother her."

"The same purpose may be accomplished were she to take meals in the kitchen, my lord, no disrespect intended," Anardil replied. "She need not bother you or your family and friends."

"She is definitely no bother," Elrond said with a grin. "You have a delightful daughter, Anardil."

"I would not know about that, I sometimes think," Anardil replied ruefully. "I have not been around her enough to know her well, I do not believe."

"The life you lead is not an easy one, Anardil," Elrond declared. "Everyone knows that; even Jeren."

They arrived at Elrond's study, and he and Anardil entered. At Elrond's eyebrows raised in question, Anardil explained his presence.

"Aragorn asked that I inquire if you had the time to meet with him now," Anardil said in way of explanation.

"Of course," Elrond replied. "I have nothing so pressing that I cannot make time for him."

"Very well," the ranger replied. "I will go inform him of your answer."

Elrond smiled and shook his head. His little Estel had men running as messengers for him. Whoever would have believed the scrawny Human boy would be the leader of men he was turning out to be? Well, whoever but himself? Of course he had known.

It was only a short time later that Aragorn knocked and was admitted into Elrond's study. Elrond rose from his desk, and walked over to his foster son, embracing him once more. As soon as he allowed the man to step out of his arms, he was surprised by the look of puzzlement on the Chieftain's face.

"What is it, Estel?" Elrond asked as if confused. "Cannot a father embrace his son more than once, after said son has been away for twenty some-odd years? And besides, that first hug hardly counted, after all. I had to hold my breath. It was before you bathed, remember?"

Aragorn chuckled and said, "Would you Elves stop this abuse please? I would hate to be forced to defend my honor against you."

"Ah yes," Elrond agreed, walking back to his desk. "I would think that would be a rather sticky situation. Especially since you learned what _little_ swordplay you know, from your brothers and Glorfindel. Yes, that would be a bit embarrassing, not to mention unfair, since they taught you all the moves you know." His nettling tone was hard to mistake, and Aragorn simply smiled.

"Think you that I have not picked up a few new tricks since I have been out on my own, Father?" Aragorn asked slyly. "I believe I could hold my own against any one of them now. I would welcome a sparring match, truth told."

"That might be interesting after all," Elrond admitted. "You should see to setting it up. I am sure any one or all of them would agree."

"It would take them all to come at me at once to defeat me," Aragorn said pompously, and then both of them broke out into real laughter. As soon as they were composed and both seated, Aragorn got to the point.

"Father, I want to clarify a few things, and have you clarify a few things for me," he declared. "I want you to know, that over the next four days, I plan to speak to Jeren and try to understand what she knows about her life as one of the Dunedain—how she fits into it, what she plans to do with it—if she even has thought that far ahead."

"She has thought that far ahead, Estel," Elrond told him. "Since she was beset by the Orcs, she worries no man will have her for his wife. So she has at least thought that far ahead."

"Anardil confided in me that he has spoken to her about that," Aragorn replied. "It seems before he left here to find me, she voiced her concerns to him, and he set her mind at ease that, first of all, she has many years before it is even something she need worry about, and, second of all, the rangers are not a prejudiced lot. Courage and stamina are worth much more in their eyes, than is virginity that has been taken by force. He said that it comforted her to know."

"Excuse me if I am shocked at hearing such a thing said about Anardil," Elrond said, his brows raised skyward in disbelief. "I never would have thought him capable of easing her mind in such a way. Glad I am that he was able, but I never would have believed such a thing, had it not been you who was sitting here telling it to me."

"Here is something I want you to clarify for me, Father," Estel said gravely. Elrond had a feeling he was not going to like or approve of what his son was about to say or ask. "I am afraid you are becoming attached to the girl. Am I right, Father?"

"What if I am, Estel?" Elrond asked instead of answering.

"Only that if I decide that she belongs with the Dunedain, you will be hurt, and I do not wish for that to happen," Aragorn said quietly.

"That is why I plan to make you see that she belongs here," Elrond replied as if it was the logical solution.

"Father, you know I am duty bound to—" Aragorn started.

"—Be an impartial arbitrator, when deciding what is in the best interest of a young woman who has been through trials no one should be made to endure. Yes, I understand this. However, Jeren needs time to heal in a place where she will be cared for by those who know how to do it in the best way possible. She needs healing in both body and mind. She seems fine, does she not? Yet she is far from fine, Estel. She has a nasty habit of pushing her emotions down into herself as far as she can, and then something triggers their release. The last time was not bad. It was painful for her, yes—emotional healing always is. But it has again been too long, and I can tell she is trying to forget it ever happened. If she continues on this track she is on, and denies it much longer, when something triggers her emotional release, it could be devastating for her—and for whoever witnesses her devastation."

"Father, I want you to give me your word you will not begin pushing her toward such an emotional release while I am trying to make my decision," Aragorn said with determination. "I would not have such a thing color my opinion."

"You have my word, Estel," Elrond said calmly, although he did not feel calm with this affront by Aragorn. "But I would ask you; do you plan to bring up the circumstances of the attack with her at all?"

"It could be mentioned," Aragorn admitted.

"Well then," Elrond said dryly, "if her emotions do visit while you are in the midst of forming an opinion, think not immediately that I may have broken my word. You know I would never do such, Estel. I have not had the need, so far, to 'push' her toward an emotional release, as you put it before; her emotions have done the task on their own. I want Jeren to stay in Imladris, but I would not resort to underhanded methods in order to achieve my goals. I merely stated before that it has been some time since the last episode occurred, and it bodes not well for her that she has not mentioned the attack at all.

"Also, if she does ultimately go to a Dunedain household, and she would have one of her 'waking nightmares', as Elladan called one such episode, the family would not know what to make of it, nor know what to do for her. That is the point I was trying to make. Not only that, supposing she was in public when she experienced one of these breakdowns? What sort of reputation do you suppose that would give Jeren among the people then, after they witnessed such a thing? I am only trying to get you to see all the aspects of this Estel. I am not trying to paint the Dunedain in an unfair light. You know this, do you not?"

Aragorn leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ease the headache he seemed determined to get—and the sun wasn't even up good yet.

"I understand all that, Father," Aragorn said, smiling slightly. "You know I will be fair, do you not? I know the type of care Jeren will get from you—she could not get better care anywhere else. I know that, and you know that. I suspect Anardil knows that as well. Yet he feels very indebted to the Elves, you know that also. It hurts his pride, which is just about all a ranger has to call his own, besides his very life, as you well know. I know it isn't enough to base my answer on, in regard to Jeren's welfare. But he is her father, and his welfare is also of import in this decision. I still have four full days to investigate all aspects of this problem, and I plan to delve into every single one of them, you can be sure of that!"

Aragorn got to his feet and went around Elrond's desk. He took his foster father by one hand, and pulled the startled Elf lord to his feet. He hugged him fiercely as soon as he was standing. After only a few moments, he stood back from the Elf, and looked into his puzzled face. Aragorn laughed.

"What is it, Father?" Aragorn asked through his smile. "Cannot a son hug his father more than twice, after the son has not seen said father for some twenty-odd years?"

Elrond laughed and hugged Estel again, not letting go, even when Aragorn began to protest that he was hugged enough.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The four days passed swiftly and Jeren had many audiences with the Dunedain Chieftain. Most were pleasant enough; he mostly wanting to know how she had been living her life with her family up until the time of her attack.

Aragorn listened as she told her story in chronology, he wondering just how far she would be willing to go with the events in her life. After she told of her mother, she simply told of how her life went on after her mother's death, then said she'd been beset by Orcs at the house in the Angle, and the twins had brought her here—end of story. She did not elaborate. Aragorn hesitated, wondering if he should delve deeper, and wondering what purpose such delving would serve him. Deciding it had no bearing upon his decision, other than possible emotional ones he and Elrond had discussed earlier, he decided to let it ride, unless she brought it up for herself. She did not, so he let it be.

Jeren went about her business as standard, other than the frequent talks she had with Aragorn, running errands and delivering messages for Lord Elrond, earning her keep, as she saw it. Life went on as usual. However, a few unnerving occurrences began creeping into her day. It started very quietly the morning of the council, as a small shiver crept down her spine as she passed one of the natural gardens of Imladris on her way to the armory to deliver a message to Glorfindel. The hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end, and she had an uncontrollable urge to run, as she passed a brushy thicket near the walkway. She mentally shook herself, knowing there was no reason to be fearful at all in Imladris. Elrohir had explained it to her, after she'd had a nightmare in the healing halls one night, that Imladris was a protected sanctuary. Lord Elrond, it seemed, was a very powerful Elven lord, and he had dominion over all here, and no Orcs or any such foul creature would dare show their ugly faces within leagues of its borders—or so Elrohir said. He swore he was not deceiving her, so she believed him completely. Therefore, there could be nothing within the thicket she was passing to give her cause for such fear. She shook it off as simply an overactive imagination, and continued on to the armory, delivering her message to Glorfindel as she had been directed.

Yet the same thing happened on her way back to the house after she left the armory, only this time the feeling was stronger. It was such a creepy sense, and it left her feeling very vulnerable, as a nightmare will on a dark, stormy night. She wished such a thing had not had to happen on this day of all days. Today—this afternoon—the council deciding her future would be held. Why of all the days in her life did she have to start feeling strange today?

_Of course! It is because today is the council!_ She was simply overwrought, that was all. She just needed to calm down; everything would be fine. Serenity. Calm. Coolness. That was all she needed to concentrate on. She would be fine. Just fine.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The time was at hand.

The Dunedain Chieftain called the meeting to order. All who were supposed to be in attendance were present in the Lord of Imladris' study, a room large enough to hold the group, since their number was few. A round oak table had been provided for the purpose of the meeting, so that everyone was on equal ground, yet Aragorn held the seat of honor as the arbitrator, even though it was the Elf lord's house.

"We are called to order," Aragorn said. "We will not stand on formality, we will get down to business. I wish to hear from Anardil first. Anardil, speak your piece."

Everyone looked to the ranger, waiting to hear what he would say. Jeren was especially interested in knowing if time had tempered any of his thoughts. They had not had the time or opportunity—or, she supposed, the will—to speak to each other much since her father's return. She assumed, if he had truly wished it, he could have sought her out for such a conversation. Since he did not, she could only presume he had nothing new to say.

"I say only," Anardil began, "that I owe my life, and Jeren's, a hundred times over to the Elves—Lord Elrond in particular. The debt I owe him is astonishing, to say the least; one I could never repay in _his_ lifetime, let alone mine." There were chuckles from Aragorn and Elrond at this. Jeren thought it not so funny, so she remained silent. "For this reason, among others as important, I feel Jeren should be fostered by our Dunedain family. She is Dunedain, and she should be proud of that fact. She knows not enough of her heritage. She could learn a great deal more from being in such an environment. She does not know her kin and she would be afforded that opportunity. Her mother's sister resides at the settlement, this is a fact, and she should come to know them. Those are my reasons, and I stand by them as valid and important."

"Thank you, Anardil," Aragorn acknowledged the ranger. "Your reasons have been duly noted. I will now hear from Lord Elrond. Elrond, speak your piece."

"Thank you, Estel," Elrond said, in a stately voice. "I say that Jeren still has much healing to do, and it would be in her best interest to do that healing here, where she will receive the care she needs, both physical and emotional. We have a fine library and tutors here, where she may learn of her heritage. I know it is not the same thing as learning it directly from her people, but it would be a start in her education, until such time as she is more fully healed and able to go to her people and learn it on her own. Moreover, I simply wish her to stay. That is all."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Aragorn said, trying to stifle a smile. "Your reasons have been duly noted. I will now hear from Jeren. Jeren, speak your piece."

"Thank you, my lord," Jeren said, trying to copy the adults she had heard so far in the meeting. "I say that I am comfortable here. I know and love the Elves. I do not want to leave. My father says it would be accepting charity were I to stay here, but I am working at different tasks, as Lord Elrond sees me fit to accomplish. As I heal more fully, I have asked that he increase their difficulty. I will turn down no task, no matter how odious or menial. If allowed to stay in Imladris, I will earn my own way. I do not intend to accept charity—it is not my way. It is also not my way to beg, but I do ask you most fervently, my lord Chieftain; please do not send me away. I want to remain here in Imladris, with Lord Elrond and the rest of the Elves. That is my wish. And that is all I have to say."

"Thank you, Jeren," Aragorn said. "Your reasons have been duly noted." Aragorn looked down at his hands for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. He then looked at the faces around the table—expectant. Eager. Fearful.

"I need not take any more time to think over my decision. I have spoken with each of you over the course of my stay here, and you have each voiced to me what you have said to me just now. No matter what I choose, someone is going to be displeased, but there is nothing to be done for it; I am sorry about that. Please know—all of you—this is not a personal decision against anyone.

"I think that in the long run, Jeren will be best served to be among her own people. It is my opinion that she should be fostered with her family at the stronghold. Anardil, the call is yours, as you know. Do what you will." With that, Aragorn rose and started to exit the room. Jeren did something very unexpected, especially for her.

"You are so unfair!" Jeren exclaimed. "Have you no feelings at all?"

"Jeren!" Anardil yelled, appalled at her behavior. "Stifle your speech!"

"I will not stifle my speech, Father!" Jeren yelled back. "I have taken the last bit of nonsense from you I will be taking!"

"I am warning you, girl," Anardil seethed.

"You might as well beat me to death, Papa," Jeren said vehemently, "I care not anymore. If you take me away from those that I have grown to love, you may as well cut my wrists, as well. I will have no more need of the lifeblood within me. I have always done as you asked, borne your discipline, abided your rules, stood for your punishments. But this—you are asking too much this time, Papa. I cannot do this. I will _not _do this!"

Elrond tried to calm the girl down. The dreaded breakdown he feared may be closer at hand than he reckoned.

"Jeren, please," he coaxed, "all will be fine. Worry not."

"How can you say that?" the girl wailed. She was well and truly weeping now. "Do you not care that they are taking me away?"

"Of course I care," he soothed. "All you need do is look at my face. My sorrow is written there plainly for you to see. But you falling apart before my eyes is not what I wish for you, Jeren. Please come to me, let me hold you."

"I am sorry, Lord Elrond," Jeren said, her voice sounding strangely not like her own. "I cannot abide anyone touching me right now; I hope you understand. I feel a need to seek solitude—be alone with my thoughts. Please keep Papa occupied while I depart. I have been very fresh with him, and by all rights as a parent, he could beat me to death. The death I would welcome, but I feel not like enduring right now, so please do me this favor." With not so much as a bow to anyone, she turned and threw the door open, unmindful that it hit the wall behind it with a resounding crash. She ran from the room and down the hall, her steps echoing back to those she was leaving speechless in the Elf lord's study.

Anardil made as if to follow, but Aragorn placed his hand on his arm, stilling him instantly.

"She had no call to speak to you thusly," the ranger said in anger, "I'll not stand for it."

"It was me she spoke to," Aragorn said calmly. "If I feel the need to discipline her, I will do it. Now you leave her be." His face and his tone brooked no argument. Anardil stood down.

Elrond left the room, calling for Elladan and Elrohir intending to have them find Jeren, wherever she may have fled. As much as she said she needed solitude, his intuition was screaming at him that _that_ idea probably was not the best thing for her in her state of mind at the present. Erestor heard Elrond's call and came running, asking if he could be of some service.

"Please find the twins for me, Erestor," Elrond said worriedly. "I have need of them. And please hurry."

Erestor rushed away and after what seemed an eternity, but was perhaps fifteen minutes, the twins came running down one of the corridors toward their father.

"What is it, Father?" Elrohir asked, very concerned "What has happened?"

"Yes, Father," Elladan echoed. "Is there something wrong?"

"Aragorn chose against Jeren's wishes, and she has run out of the house," Elrond explained. "I liked not her voice, nor her choice of words. She was very unlike herself. She wanted no consoling, she spoke back to Anardil—if you can believe such a thing; she raised her voice to Estel—also very hard to believe. My heart tells me she is in trouble, but I must keep Anardil here; I fear what he may do to her if he finds her first. You find her, please. Bring her home to me. Will you do this, my sons?"

"You know we will, Father," Elrohir said, hugging his father with one arm. "Worry not about her; Elladan and I will find her. We will be back with her soon—and she will be fine."

"She will be fine, Father," Elladan repeated. "You will see."

"Thank you both," Elrond said in relief. "It means much to me."

They smiled and went to gather their weapons. Even in Imladris, old habits die hard. They found her trail easily enough, but it meandered around to several different gardens, seeming to go to higher and higher ground. They soon realized that she was headed up to one of the waterfalls, which made them uneasy, for obvious reasons. If she was of precarious emotional stability, a height of any elevation was the last place she needed to be.

As they approached closer to the summit of the cliff from where this particular waterfall originated, Elrohir suddenly nudged Elladan with his elbow.

"Look," he said to his twin, pointing skyward. "There she is, right where we hoped we wouldn't find her."

"Valar, let us get to her before she decides she's going to jump," Elladan said, almost in prayer.

"We don't know she's going to jump, Brother," Elrohir said in an attempt to console. "But come on, let's hurry."

They quickened their efforts to reach the girl, and at the same time tried to hide themselves, so she wouldn't know they were there. _And above all, they wished not to startle her._

As they got closer to the girl standing upon the cliff side, they could hear her speaking. At first they could not make out what she was saying over the noise of the rushing water. As they drew closer, her words caused gooseflesh to erupt on the skin of one brother; chills ran down the spine of the other.

"Mother," Jeren said, "I want to be with you; you know I do. But I like it here in Imladris. I love Lord Elrond and the twins; they have become my family. Papa seems only to want someone to order around. He cries and says he loves me so much—then in the next breath threatens me. I know not what to make of him any more, and I care not to try. I despair, Mother. It was always you and me, mostly. I want to be with you again, and I will be, too. Especially if they try to send me away. I have nothing left if they do that. Nothing at all.

"What did you say, Mother? I can barely hear you; the water is loud. Do I need you again? Yes, Mother; I do need you. I need you very much. And you just told me that you cannot come back here, that I must come to you. I want to be with you, but the choice is hard. I know not what to do, Mother. I must think on it awhile. Will you wait for me while I think about it? You will? I love you, Mother.

"You always loved me, Mother. You could get angry with me, if I did something wrong, but you never scared me. You never made me believe you would hate me or cease to love me if I defied you. You let me know that no matter what I did, you would love me anyway. And now you are gone and I am here. My life seems to be over. That Estel, or Aragorn, or whatever his name is, is going to take me away from here. Here, where everyone treats me as you once did, Mother—like they might still care for me, even if I was to make a mistake. I will not go, Mother. I will not go. If the only alternative is coming to be with you, then that is what I will do.

"I am so tired, Mother. So very tired. I think I will rest for a little while. Will you still be here when I awake? You will be? Thank you, Mother. I knew I could count on you always. Thank you, Mother. Remember—wait for me. Do not go yet. I will only sleep for a short while. I am so very tired—"

Jeren sat in the grass, then laid herself down on the verdant ground, pillowed with moss and fern that thrived in the mists of the falls.

The twins watched from the undergrowth a few feet away, until they were sure that she slept. It could not have been more than five minutes before she was blissfully unconscious, her mind shut down from the overload of emotion she had put herself through that afternoon. The Elves crept forward silently, careful not to wake her, lest she jump up and run, and accidentally fall in her haste. Elrohir was almost in tears after listening to her soliloquy; saddened beyond words that Jeren felt such total despair. At this point, as far as Elrohir was concerned, Jeren was staying in Imladris even if he had to barricade her in his room and fight Anardil and Estel off all by himself! Elladan gave his brother a silent nod, indicating that his thoughts were of a like vein, even though they had not been voiced aloud.

Elrohir gathered the unconscious girl into his arms, and together with his brother, made his way back down the cliff side, to the Last Homely House. They had only gone about a half league away from the house, so they were soon home, and as soon as they had gone through the front door, Elladan gave a yell that they had been successful in their search. The three who had been in Elrond's study awaiting news of the girl, emerged quickly. They were each intent on seeing Jeren, and each with different intentions of what they would say to her. As it was, none of them would say anything; she was still not conscious for them to do so.

"Take her to the healing halls, Elrohir," Elrond said worriedly, "she does not look good to me." The entire group—with Elrohir holding Jeren—as well as Elladan, Elrond, Aragorn, and Anardil—began walking down the corridor toward the healing halls.

"You are right to be concerned, Father," Elrohir said somberly. "We found her atop one of the cliffs, speaking to her mother." At his father's confused stare, Elrohir reiterated his words. "Yes, Father, you heard me right. She was speaking to her mother."

It did not take them long to reach the healing halls, and Elrond took charge then, directing Elrohir and Elladan to enter before him, and demanding that Anardil and Estel stay out until he had the situation well under control. Anardil especially did not care for the Elf lord's tone, but wisely said nothing. Aragorn understood the situation all too well. His father was in way too deep with this girl, he was finding out. It was too bad. He hated to see his father get hurt in this way.

By the time Elrond reached the bed Elrohir had placed Jeren upon—the same bed she had occupied when she first came to Imladris—the twins had her clothes off and a sleeping gown placed on her body. They assured their father that she was unharmed. She'd obviously taken no falls or had no accidents of any sort on her sojourn to the waterfall. She was simply—or perhaps not so simply—emotionally overwrought and needed sorting out. How that would be accomplished was anyone's guess. Perhaps she would guide them through it when she awakened.

They stepped several feet away, but still within easy sight should she awaken, to tell their father of the bizarre conversation they overheard Jeren have with her long dead mother.

"It was alarming, Father," Elladan said with concern, "because she spoke of going to be with her mother. What saved us from having to tackle her right then and there I believe, was the fact that her energy wore out, and she lapsed into the state she is now in. She acted as if she really did not want to die, but her choices had narrowed with Estel's recommendation. One minute she looked as if she was ready to jump, and then the next, she didn't. I do not know what we would have done had she decided to jump other than just try to tackle her bodily. I hope we could have caught her. It is horrifying to contemplate."

"That is for sure the truth of it, Elladan," Elrohir breathed. "My heart was in my throat half of the time she was speaking. I knew not from minute to minute if she was still going to be standing there when next I blinked my eyes."

The Elves each were startled when Jeren suddenly sat up. "What am I doing here?" she asked, completely at a loss as to how she came to be in the healing alls. She threw off the blankets, intending to rise.

"Rest easy, young lady," Elrohir said, "worry not about it; you are here with your family. What else is there to know at this time?" As he spoke to her softly, he and his father and brother each approached her bed, with Elrond reaching her first, and guiding her gently to lie back down against the pillows once more.

Jeren wrinkled her brow in confusion, then suddenly paled as awareness came back to her tormented mind.

"Papa will kill me," she whispered. "How could I have spoken so to the Chieftain? Or to my father? I am in for it this time." Her gaze averted away from them all, and tears began to silently slip from her eyes. The Elves watched in dismay.

"I care not what he does to me," she admitted. "Let him kill me. He might as well."

"Do not say such a thing," Elrond admonished her, more harshly than he had meant to. It galled him that after she had been raped and beaten by the Orcs—demoralized and terrorized—she had not despaired—ever. Let Humans within ten feet of her, and she spoke of ending her life. Well he'd had enough of this torment of her. It had gone too far. He was going to speak to Estel and tell him exactly what was now on Jeren's mind. This could not be allowed to continue—no matter what Anardil's feelings were on the matter.

"You still have not told me how I came to be here," Jeren said sadly. "Did I fall and hit my head and become unconscious? Why am I here? I hurt nowhere."

"You do not remember?" Elladan asked her, almost in disbelief.

"Remember what?" Jeren asked, her confusion increasing. "I remember Aragorn's edict—which was most unfair. I remember telling him so. I remember Papa getting very angry at me, and I telling him I cared not if he beat me to death." Her brows again came together in a frown. "I remember nothing else after that, however. Will you tell me what I did? Or did Papa beat me after all?"

"Anardil did not beat you, Jeren," Elrond said. "And for now, I wish for you to be sleeping." At her attempt to speak in protest, he spoke over her. "Trust me, Jeren. I will explain all to you at another time. For now, you must trust me. Will you do this, and allow me to put you into a healing sleep again? It would do you much good, and you have great need of it at this time."

The look of despair and defeat overtook her features once more, and she nodded her assent.

"All right, my lord," Jeren agreed. "If it is your wish that I do this, very well, it will be done." She said no more, so Elrond sat on the side of her bed, tenderly placing his hand on the side of her face. He closed his eyes and bid her to do likewise. She was asleep in a matter of seconds. Elrond dropped his hand into his lap and his chin to his chest. Elrohir placed an arm around his father's shoulders, hugging his father to him.

"We will see her through this, Father," he said quietly. "We will let her come to no harm."

"I hope you are right, Elrohir," Elrond said sadly. "She deserves the best life has to offer and she has been getting the worst. Someone must stand up for her and that someone is going to be me."

With a new determination, Elrond strode out of the healing halls, to face Jeren's tyrant of a father, and the Elf lord's dolt of a son—at least that was how he was feeling about Estel at this particular moment in time. The twins followed their sire, intent on backing him up, if need be. However, they had not expected to hear what their father eventually said.

"Anardil," Elrond said wearily, "you may see Jeren now. Please do not try to wake her. I have placed her in a healing sleep. She awoke briefly, but was in no state to stay conscious. We know no more of her motives now than we did before. Just sit with her. She will know of your presence on some level, I feel sure." As soon as the door had closed behind the ranger, Elrond turned on Aragorn.

"_You_, follow me," Elrond demanded.

In silence, the party of two Elves and one slightly chagrined Human, led by what was obviously a very wroth Elf lord, made their way through the corridors of the Last Homely House, until they were finally ensconced in Elrond's private sitting room. It was the antechamber to his bedchamber, so was very private and no one entered, save family, unless by personal invitation. Elrond bid everyone sit where they may, as he poured glasses of Miruvor for himself and the others present, and handed them out, saving Aragorn's for last. He held the wine glass out to his son, just out of reach.

"What is wrong, Estel?" Elrond asked with sarcasm. "I offer you ambrosia; just reach out and take it. What is stopping you?"

"You are keeping it from me, Father," Aragorn said without mirth. "What is the point you are trying to prove, for obviously you have one?"

"I am trying to make you feel as Jeren feels," Elrond admitted. "Can you feel the frustration, even on such a small level?"

"It is you who is offering her the ambrosia, Father," Aragorn declared, "not I. I am the impartial arbitrator, or have you forgotten that conveniently in your wrath?"

Elrond relaxed slightly and handed the glass to Aragorn, humbled by his son's true words.

"I am sorry, Estel," Elrond apologized. "You are right. I am just frustrated beyond belief and I am taking it out on you. However, I cannot believe you sided with Anardil on this issue of where Jeren will reside. It is unthinkable that you could have decided in such a way!" He paced away from the group, unable to sit yet—needing to walk off some of his anger.

"And why is it so unthinkable, Father?" Aragorn asked smartly. "Because I decided against your wishes?"

The look the Lord of Imladris cast upon the Dunedain Chieftain was icy enough to freeze oil. He paced back to his son, his countenance softening. Aragorn knew from making past mistakes that having Elrond's face not maintain its glower did not necessarily mean he had gotten over his anger. No; and such was definitely not the case in this instance, either.

"Elrohir," Elrond said sweetly, "is that why I find Estel's decision so atrocious?"

"No, Father," Elrohir said angrily. "It is _not_!"

"Would you please, Elrohir," Elrond continued, "tell your brother why I find his ruling to be so ridiculous, given where and in what emotional state you found Jeren this afternoon?"

"Certainly Father," Elrohir agreed. Turning to Aragorn with eyes filled with outrage, Elrohir began telling his brother of the state in which they found the girl, when they came upon her at the waterfall.

"We tracked her to one of the cliff side waterfalls, Estel," Elrohir declared. "She was not dangerously close to the edge, but she could have fallen or jumped without much effort. She was talking to her mother, who has been dead for over three years. _Not_ as in praying to her. She was speaking to her—carrying on a conversation. She acted as if she could even see her standing there next to her. In the course of her communicating with her dead mother, we surmised that Jeren was somewhat torn. She declared that she would not leave Imladris—she said she cared not what _you_ said she must do—she was not leaving here. Jeren spoke of joining her mother, wherever Humans go after death. Apparently before Elladan and I arrived on the scene, Jeren imagined that her mother had told her that she could not return to Middle Earth—Jeren must go to her if she needed her mother's comfort, which Jeren assured her she did. Jeren wanted to go to her, but she did not really want to die, I do not think.

"She has struggled valiantly for almost a month since her attack by the Orcs to overcome both her physical injuries, as well as her mental ones, and deep inside I think it galls her to give up. However, she truly does not want to leave Imladris. I sincerely believe the only thing that sees her safe in the healing halls right now is the fact that she completely gave out—had no more energy with which to deal with her emotions. Had she not lost consciousness, I fear Elladan and I would have been fishing her between the rocks at the bottom of those falls."

Before Aragorn could respond, Elladan put in, "And now she recalls none of it! She only remembers her actions at the council. I am not even sure she remembers leaving, although she does remember 'being fresh' as she called it, to you and Anardil. And she does not care if her father kills her—_literally kills her_ for the misdeed. She speaks of welcoming death, saying she has nothing left to live for, Estel. It breaks our hearts."

Aragorn gazed back at his brothers defiantly. "I had no way of knowing her mind was so gravely affected by the attack of the Orcs." Turning to Elrond he said, almost accusingly, "You made it sound serious, but this is life-threatening, for Valar's sake! Did you know the extent of her damage, Father? Did you know the extent of her dependence on you?"

"I tried not to influence you unduly, Estel," Elrond said tiredly, "but, truthfully, I suppose I did not believe her to be so overwrought myself. I knew she wished to stay here, but I believed her to be stronger than this. I thought she would be able to endure, whatever the decision. _And_ I sincerely believed you would not decide against Imladris. I truly did not believe you would." He shook his head as if still disbelieving that his son could be so obtuse as to have made the incorrect choice that he had.

"You Elves only think of yourselves sometimes!" Aragorn said angrily. "And before you interrupt me, and say you are thinking only of the girl, let me tell you that you will be lying if you say that to me! If you search your hearts and your minds, you will know I speak the truth. You are attached to her—you love her. I can see it in your faces, so do not try to deny it—any one of you!" Aragorn rose from his chair and brushed past his father, laying a hand on the Elf lord's shoulder in apology. He truly did not mean to bump him in disrespect.

"I fault none of you for loving her; she seems to be a wonderful girl. I've not known her long, so have not fallen under her spell—yet. Given time, I am sure I could do that, if the three of you are any indication of the power of her charm. But she has a father! Yes, he has faults—serious faults. He is in dire need of help with his parenting, which he would receive were he to foster her with a Dunedain family. Jeren's Aunt Elenmere and her husband James. They are very good people. Good, kind parents are the head of the family. You all know them. I cannot believe you did not trust me to do right by someone you obviously care so much about. You do not know how much your lack of trust in me hurts." Aragorn turned his back on them. It had been a trying day, and emotions were running wild in everyone, it seemed.

The Elves looked at each other, realizing they had been quick to judge Aragorn—they had not given him the trust he deserved as one of their own. They had done exactly as he had accused them: they had lacked faith in him to take care of _them_ for a change. They had needed something from him and even though he had not been able to justify giving in to their exact wishes, he'd had their hearts in his mind at all times when considering Jeren's fate. He was not leaving her destiny to chance, as they had feared. He had a plan, and a good one at that. They should have trusted him and they had not. Not only had they been foolish, they had hurt him—badly.

Elrond walked up to Aragorn, and put his hands on his shoulders.

"I am sorry, Estel," the Elf lord said softly. "You are right. We lacked trust. I hope you can forgive us this transgression. You are also right in how selfish we have been. We have been so wrapped up in what _we_ wanted, we have been blind as to your efforts. After Jeren awakes and calms, perhaps we may think of a way to make her transition from Imladris to the Dunedain household not be so abrupt—perhaps smooth it in some way. One of us may accompany her, and stay for a few days with her; just until she realizes she can make it on her own. Think you that could be a workable plan?"

"We will speak of it after the girl awakes, Father," Aragorn said. "For now, I think I will go soak my head in the bath. Valar knows it grows late in the day, and by now my sweat must be reeking to you all. I may as well save myself the grief of hearing it told to me."

Nobody laughed, not even Aragorn. He simply walked dejectedly from the room. The others stared at the door as it quietly clicked shut behind him. The room was so quiet, the Elves could each hear the others' hearts beating, but none of them spoke. The twins sat in silence, sipping their drinks. And Elrond continued to pace.

After only a few minutes more, the Elf lord exited his sitting room, going deeper into his chambers, seeking more solitude. The twins knew better than to follow him. They continued to sit silently with each other, brooding over the events of the afternoon, wondering what the evening may bring, let alone the morrow.


	14. Peaceful Resolutions Give Way to Painful...

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Elrond slept not at all that night. He spent the dark hours in the healing halls, restocking the various herb bins that were low in supply, making sure supplies in general were where they should be, in the amounts needed should emergency arise. He checked often on Jeren, but she slept on, oblivious of the Elf lord's pained expression, as he thought about her life and her trials—and the despair that seemed to ooze from her soul even as she slept.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun made itself known, the girl's face softened in her dreamless sleep, relaxing finally, as it should have done from the moment Elrond had induced the healing sleep upon her. Elrond breathed a sigh of relief; he felt that at last, Jeren was resting peacefully, as he had meant for her to be doing from the start.

His busy work was finally exhausted, so he sat in the chair beside her bed, waiting for her to awaken, so that he may speak to her before the others came in to confuse and sadden her once again. He thought about when his sons had first brought the girl to Imladris, quivering and weeping silently with the pain of the fracture in her clavicle; the pain so intense she could hardly catch her breath. By all rights she should have been unconscious. Not Jeren. She was too strong for her own good. She endured through the pain, only losing consciousness when Elrond willed her into the healing sleep.

Where had that strength gone? Had he simply overestimated her? He thought not. More than likely he had _underestimated_ the damage done to her psyche by the Orcs and their torment of her. He thought _that_ the more likely scenario. She had proved time after time that she was made of very stern stuff indeed. No, she just had very much damage that she had stuffed so far down inside of herself; it had been amassing all this time, until now it was plainly affecting her mind in a very negative way. _Dear Eru, help her to claw her way back up through the mire she has immersed herself into._

Jeren began to stir as the sun started to show pink on the eastern horizon. Elrond sat up a little straighter; he felt as if he had lapsed into waking dreams himself somewhat. As he sat there and watched the girl's eyelids begin to flutter, he started to smile. She was such a special person. He loved her as if she was one of his own.

As soon as her eyes focused on the Elf lord, her brows drew together in confusion once more. This worried Elrond. He feared she would not know him.

"Elrond," the girl said familiarly, "Tis good to see you, to be sure, but I can only stay a short while and I need to be speaking to my husband."

Elrond sat up completely at this speech the girl made. _What in the world was Jeren speaking of now?_

"What do you mean, Jeren?" Elrond asked, his confusion and his fear rising with each passing second.

"Oh, Elrond," the girl said, "I am sorry for confusing you. Jeren's not here. She's locked herself away. You are speaking to me, now—Jennah. I thought it would not be possible for me to be here, but I found a way. Jeren needed me so badly, I could not leave her, you see. Jeren wanted not to be here any more, so I decided to take her place for a while. And I need to be setting her father straight, do you not think so? Anardil has gotten quite out of hand and he needs his comeuppance, if you ask me."

Elrond was stunned. He knew not what to make of this turn of events. Should he play along with Jeren? Pretend she was Jennah? What if he defied her and _made_ her be herself? What would happen then? He was truly out of his league—and that was something that happened very few times in the Elf lord's long life. He looked up as the door to the healing halls suddenly opened and Elrohir entered, a look of determination on his face.

"Good morning, Father," he said resolutely. "I know not how we are to do it, but I am determined we will fix everything that needs fixing this day."

"Elrohir!" Jeren exclaimed happily. "How wonderful to see you again!"

"It is wonderful to see you in high spirits again, young lady," Elrohir proclaimed, a smile dawning on his face. "I was worried for you yesterday, but apparently the healing sleep has done you much good, just as Father predicted."

"You look as young as ever, Elrohir," Jeren proclaimed. "Elves never cease to amaze me, Elrond. Even knowing of your agelessness, it boggles the feeble Human mind to contemplate your immortality, you know."

Elrohir's forehead wrinkled with puzzlement. While Jeren was making sense, she didn't sound quite like herself. Still, he was happy to see her in a better frame of mind. Perhaps as the day grew older she would continue to improve.

"Elrohir," Elrond said as he rose from his chair, "I would have a word with you, out on the veranda, please." Elrohir noticed right away the strange tenseness in his father's voice this morning. The Elf lord strode quickly from the room with Elrohir hot on his heels. Once outside with the door firmly closed behind them, Elrond turned to his son and let his fears come tumbling from his mouth.

"Elrohir!" Elrond said in alarm. "Jeren—she believes—she thinks—"

The Elf lord walked a few paces away from his son, trying to think of a way to tell him that it seemed as if Jeren believed the ghost of her mother was inhabiting her.

"Father?" Elrohir questioned. "Are you feeling well?"

"No," Elrond quickly answered. "Not exactly. And when I tell you why, you will understand my upset."

"Then do please elaborate," Elrohir said, "you are beginning to scare me, Father."

"Then that will make two of us who are afraid, Elrohir," Elrond admitted. Again the Lord of Imladris paced away a few steps. He paused momentarily and then walked back again.

"Elrohir," Elrond began, "did Jeren seem herself to you just then, when she spoke to you?"

"She seemed in good spirits," he replied.

"Spirits!" Elrond spat out. "Why did you feel the need to use _that_ word when describing the girl?"

"What?" Elrohir exclaimed in question.

"Never mind," Elrond answered him shortly. "Elrohir, as unbelievable as it may seem, Jeren believes herself to be inhabited by her mother's spirit. She believes her soul is locked away, and Jennah has taken possession of her body."

At Elrohir's completely incredulous look, Elrond exclaimed, "I told you it was unbelievable!"

"Father, are you sure?" Elrohir questioned him further.

"Yes I am sure!" he replied. "Do I look as if I have had a pleasant morning, with Jeren as her usual company?" At Elrohir's skeptical shake of his head, Elrond continued, "No, I thought I did not. Come. Let us return to her. You can see for yourself."

They re-entered the healing halls and returned to Jeren's bedside.

"What does someone have to do to receive some sustenance around here?" Jeren asked. "I am absolutely starving! Elrond, you know how much I always loved the sweet rolls baked by the Elves? Could you bring me some of those? Please? I would be forever grateful!"

Elrohir's jaw dropped at the words Jeren spoke. Except for the sound of the voice, it could have been Jennah who was saying the words. She had not come to Imladris often—only once that he could recall—but she had almost made herself ill eating the breakfast confections the baker in the kitchen took such pride in. He remembered it well; he had made the herbal tea to settle her stomach afterwards.

"Jennah?" he whispered. "Is it really you? How came you to be here, and where is the young lady? Where is Jeren?"

"She is still here, my friend," Jennah said with her daughter's mouth. "But she is battered and war torn, and refuses to leave the comfort of my embrace. So for now, I am allowing her the ease of my presence; I am afraid you must endure me as well, until such time as she decides to come forth, or I must leave—whichever comes first."

"But how is this possible?" Elrohir asked with awe. "I have never witnessed such a remarkable thing; such a thing is inconceivable to my mind."

Jennah laughed. "I have baffled an Elf? Will wonders never cease! The world must truly be ending if a mere mortal—no wait! I am no longer mortal, am I? Perhaps that is the secret of how I could best any of the Firstborn. Elrond, what do you think? Could this perhaps be the answer to how I could accomplish such a feat?"

"Jeren," Elrond answered. "I grow tired of this game. I know not how or why you are doing this, but I wish you to cease it now. Tis not a healthy pastime in which you indulge yourself, and I advise you to quit acting this way. I am losing all respect for you."

Jeren's face did not falter, her smile did not fade. She simply looked on the Elf lord with an indulgent expression, as a mother would when a child's face showed disbelief of something their young mind could not quite grasp.

"I do not blame you, Elrond, for thinking Jeren is quite daft," Jennah said soothingly. "She has been through so much, my heart breaks when I think of it. When those nasty Orcs were upon her, she thought of me, and I went to her in the yard as they assaulted her. I was right there, Elrond, watching them violate my daughter." Jeren's voice began to tremble as she spoke, sounding like a mother having witnessed the brutal attack on her child, as if it was happening right there before her eyes—again.

"One of them had kicked her in the left side of her head, leaving her concussed—it almost put her eye out. Just a little closer in and it would have. When she came to a few minutes later, one was on top of her, and was hurting her. It scared her so badly, Elrond, for she had no experience of men or relations between sexes. She screamed, so they hit her in the head again. That rendered her helpless, but she was still aware of what was happening to her. They were none too gentle with her, as you know, and it was not just the one—no it was three of them, each worse than the first—biting and spitting and Valar knows what else." The disgust in her voice mixed with the trembling, and the result was tears, which had begun to trickle down her face.

"But I stayed with her throughout her ordeal. I could not leave her to face them alone, so I held her and rocked her to sleep while they abused her. Then Elladan came, and took her from my arms. He is a fine son, Elrond, you should be proud of both of your sons."

Elrond did not answer Jeren. He was still unsure of exactly how to handle the situation with the girl. On the one hand, he could almost without doubt swear that he was speaking with Jennah. On the other, he knew how utterly impossible that was. _Wasn't it?_

The three occupants of the healing halls each glanced up as the door opened, allowing three others to enter the infirmary. Aragorn, Elladan, and Anardil came walking into the room, stopping beside Jeren's bed. Elladan was holding a tray, containing the sweet rolls Jennah had coincidentally requested just a few minutes before.

"Elladan, you sweetheart!" Jeren appeared to exclaim. "You read my mind and brought me sweets! I am so hungry, I was thinking of seeking the kitchen myself, since I could not convince Elrond or Elrohir to feed me."

Elladan slowly lowered the tray to rest across the girl's lap, scowling slightly, at hearing Jeren speak of his father so familiarly. She confused him already this morning. She had never used his father's name without his title before it; it simply did not sound like her—and she was so cheerful! Had she gone completely out of her mind?

"Yes, Jeren," he replied. "I brought you something to eat. I thought you might be hungry. You are certainly feeling better today, are you not?"

"Well I am, Elladan," Jennah replied. "However, Jeren is not. She refuses to come out and speak to any of you, and quite frankly, I do not blame her, at least as far as speaking to _you, husband!_"

The ranger suddenly shivered and looked stricken. It seemed as if he recognized his late wife's inflection of speech, if not her actual voice; but his sane, Human mind could not get around the fact that his wife was dead, and her words could not possibly be coming from his daughter's body.

"Jeren," he said skeptically, "what manner of evil are you committing now?"

"You know good and well I am not your daughter at the moment, Anardil," Jennah replied.

"Listen to me, daughter," Anardil said, his teeth beginning to clench. "I will not stand for this—whatever it is you are trying to pull. Do you here me, girl?"

"Or you'll what, husband?" Jennah asked, growing louder. "Beat her? With your leather belt? Or perhaps your leather scabbard? Or perhaps if you get too angry, your fist may do. What has become of you, man? You were never so vile while I lived. What turned your heart black after I died?"

"Silence!" he shouted. "Be silent!"

"I'll not be silent while I have a voice to speak with!" Jennah shouted back at him. "Jeren has needed someone with a voice to shout at you with, for she would not use her own against you. She loves you Anardil, although why she does still escapes me now. I thought you believed as I did, that Jeren was the best of both of us—the best part of me and the best part of you, born by our love for one another. But after I died, instead of treasuring the whole of Jeren, you seemed to lose sight of her altogether—as well as yourself. You treasure nothing any more. You care about nothing, and you are no longer anyone I even care to know, let alone love."

Anardil turned away, his hands covering his face, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

"You are but a shell of yourself, Anardil." Jennah continued. "Where have you gone? You have been among more people than has Jeren, and yet she survived my passing much better than have you. I am sorry I had to go; it was not of my choosing. Never would I have left you had I had the option of staying. But I had neither the option nor any choice in the matter. I left a thirteen-year-old and a forty-year-old, but right now, I am having trouble telling the difference between the child and the parent! Grow up, Anardil. Jeren has left you so far behind, you may never catch up! I have seen your weak attempts at atoning for your sins against her, and they would be admirable, _if _you would but put your whole heart into the effort."

Jennah suddenly stopped speaking and sat back against the pillows of the bed, apparently exhausted from the effort of making such a prolonged speech. All eyes were on the girl in the bed and the room was so quiet they were all suddenly aware of the ranger's quiet weeping. Anardil had slipped into the chair that Elrond had been sitting in before the others came in, red-eyed and looking as if hopelessness was his only friend.

Aragorn looked at Elrond with eyes pleading to be told that he was dreaming this. He wanted Elrond to tell him that he would wake up soon, and that it had all been but a figment of his Human imagination. But Elrond looked back at Aragorn with ancient eyes that told him that until today, he thought he had seen everything there was to see. Now he knew he had been wrong about that.

"I must feed Jeren now," Jennah declared. "She is weakened from the stress, and I am fading. I must soon go to her and try to persuade her to come forth from within; I know not if she would be able to free herself. I know not if she has the desire to." Jennah, or Jeren, whichever way you wished to view her, ate her meal in silence, taking pauses to sip the juice that was also on the tray. Gone was the joyful mood of earlier. In place was an almost frantic mood; a hurried mother, trying to feed her child, then find a place to seek shelter from a storm so that she may speak with her—all within a very short time, it seemed, to those looking on. The room was completely silent now. Anardil did not even make a sound any more.

Jeren finally asked that the tray be removed, and Elrohir stepped forward and lifted it away. The girl lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. The others stood in silence, looking at one another, wondering what—if anything—they could or should do. Jeren relaxed visibly, breathing deeply. She almost looked asleep. They all jumped as one, when Jennah spoke once more.

"Jeren, my baby," she said in a soothing voice," please come to Mother. I need to speak to you baby."

There was a long pause; neither noise nor sound of any kind was heard. A pin could have been heard dropping, had someone dropped a pin—that was how eerily quiet it was.

"Jeren," Jennah soothed, "please baby; Mama needs you. Come to me now. I know 'tis hard, but I am here, and nothing nor no one will hurt you. I promise you, baby. I do."

"Mother?" came the weak answer; again Jeren's voice was speaking, answering herself. Elrond wondered at this phenomenon. Was it truly the spirit of Jennah, or some split within Jeren's tortured mind, brought on by the torment the child could just not handle any longer?

"Yes, baby," Jennah replied. "I am here, child. Come to Mama. I wish to hold you out here. Be not afraid, Jeren. I have spoken to your Papa, and he will hurt you no more. I have exposed him for the coward he has been to you. The others now know. He will not be left alone with you again, until he proves he is trustworthy. I promise you Jeren. I promise you."

"Do not hurt Papa," Jeren said mournfully. "He only tries to teach me, Mother. He must make me see my mistakes and how important they are—it could be a matter of life and death sometimes, you know."

"Is that what he told you, Jeren?" Jennah asked skeptically.

"I do not remember, Mother," Jeren said foggily, "it was too long ago."

"Well if he told you that, child, he was only trying to justify his cruelty," she seethed. "No one deserves to be beaten as he was beating you, baby. I saw what he did to you."

"You saw, Mother?" Jeren asked, puzzled. "But how?"

"It is the way of death for us mortals, Jeren," Jennah told her, using the girl's own mouth. "We stay around those that we love. Even though you cannot see us or hear us, we are there just the same. And I saw when he beat you and struck you for lame reasons or for no reason at all. But you—you love him so, you would justify it in your mind. You could always find a fault in yourself—minute though it may be—to decide that your father had a right to be striking you, when he did not, Jeren. He did not."

"Mother," Jeren said, "I am tired of this life. I want to come with you. Could I come with you, please? I need you now, much more than I need to be alive. Please?"

"No, Jeren," Jennah laughed lightly, "you may not come with me now. You have so many things you must do in your own life, you cannot be wasting it that way. Not until you are old—very old and gray, without teeth in your head, will you be coming to be with me. But then! Oh then we will have a fine time—you and I together!"

"How will I be able to have a fine time, old and decrepit as I will be?" Jeren asked, consternation clearly written on her face. The others chuckled at Jeren's obvious frustration. Elrond marveled at the transformations taking place in the face of the girl, as the different personalities changed with the speeches. He could not help but wonder what would be left of the girl when this was all said and done.

"When you see me now," Jennah said, "am I weak and sick, as I was when last you saw me?"

Jeren's face lit with wonder, though her eyes stayed shut. "No!" she said with joy. "You are hail. Mother, then it is true? I can grow old, and when I die and come to be with you, I will be in the prime of my life?"

"That is right, Jeren," Jennah told her. "The prime of your life."

"So if I cannot be with you now," Jeren said, "I suppose that means you will be leaving soon, does it not?"

"That it does, my sweet," Jennah said sadly. "But rest assured, my daughter, if you need me, I am but a prayer away."

"All right, Mother," Jeren said. "I will stay, but I will miss you sorely. I love you, Mother. Mother? Are you still here?" Jeren lay still and did not open her eyes, nor say anything else. After several minutes ticked by, Elrond approached the bed, and laid his hand on the girl's forehead, hoping she may open her eyes at the contact. She did not. She seemed unconscious. She did not stir, nor speak again.

Elrond left the girl in the bed and gathered the others around him. Speaking quietly, he told them to take Anardil, and comfort him however they would be able. The ranger had been through much already this day.

"After what we have heard this morning, you can have pity on him?" Elrohir asked, visibly angry.

"And just what did we learn, Elrohir?" Elrond wanted to know. "Was your mind able to process all it witnessed here? If so, then you are far wiser than I, my son, for I know not exactly what I saw, let alone what I heard. And what if what Jeren—or Jennah—or whoever was speaking to us said was true? Who are we to condemn him? We know not his life. We have not had to live it, nor walk in his boots. Will we allow him near her alone, in case it is true? Of course not. But to try and convict a man—someone we have called friend for many years—on the basis of a very strange event would be foolish indeed. Now do as I have asked of you, please. I must see if I can reach out to Jeren. If I can, I must see what is left in her mind; see if she is still there, as we know her. I am praying that she is. Right now, that is all that concerns me."

Elrohir still looked uncertain, but Elladan grasped his twin by the shoulder.

"Brother," he pleaded, "Anardil has been sick with grief. I know that is an ill excuse for his behavior, but what else could it be, but despair over Jennah's death? As Father said, we have known him for years. You were as confused as I, when we first heard Jeren speak of her father's anger and punishment—and even more so when we realized she spoke of Anardil. It did not describe the man we knew at all. Now come. Let us do as Father has bid us, and remember—Jeren would appreciate it also. She loves Anardil in spite of his treatment of her."

Elrohir nodded silently in agreement, then he and Elladan each took one of the ranger's arms and compassionately helped him from the chair beside Jeren's bed. He did not protest. He looked as a man would who had just watched his entire world be destroyed before his very eyes—and indeed, perhaps he had. The twins led their charge to the door, and took him out of the Healing halls, the man having never said another word.

Aragorn looked at his father with tired and cheerless eyes. Elrond gazed back upon his son with eyes full of worry and regret.

"Is there anything I might do, Father?" Aragorn asked soberly.

"No, Estel," the Elf lord replied. "Simply pray that I can reach her."

"That I have already begun to do," the ranger said. He placed a hand on his father's arm in silent support.

Aragorn bowed his head in respect to his father and left the healing halls. The Elf lord approached the girl's bed and sat upon the edge, placing his slender hand on her arm, which lay outside the blanket. Jeren did not move nor change in any way. She continued to lie there as if she was carved of stone.

The Lord of Imladris was about to use a technique he had not attempted to use in many, many centuries. He liked not using it; the aftereffects left him weak and feeling ill. It was something Galadriel used constantly—she said 'practice makes perfect'. He hated headaches and retching too much to practice enough to become adept at the method.

However, if he could get through to Jeren this way, he had to try it, for he could see no other way of reaching her. He knew not exactly what had happened in this room this morning, but whatever it had been had not been a normal occurrence, of that he was certain. Whether Jennah's spirit had actually been present, Elrond would not venture to guess. It was just as likely that Jeren's mind had dreamed up her mother's presence, imitating her precisely as she remembered her to be. Either way, Jeren was a very sick child emotionally, and was very far away from him, deep within her own mind. He had to try to find where she had buried herself—if he could—and speaking with her mind to mind was the only way that he knew of that had even a hope of finding her.

Elrond took Jeren's hands into his as he sat on the side of her bed. He wished he had a more comfortable place in which to do this, but he did not_. So be it._ He closed his eyes and relaxed his body and his psyche. He pictured Jeren in his mind, not as he had last seen her—weeping and unhappy—but as he loved to see her—happy and laughing. He smiled to himself as he saw her sweet face and heard her laughter pealing through his mind.

_"Jeren, come and speak with me. I know that you can hear me. Be not afraid, no harm will come to you. It is only you and me here now,"_ Elrond told her with his mind.

Elrond could hear his voice echo as if he stood in an empty hall. He received no answer, yet he was far from giving up.

_"Jeren, come forth; do not make me come in there further. You know not how much I despise dark and barren places,_" Elrond said from his mind to the other's.

Elrond caught his breath. He knew he heard the slightest chuckle.

_"Jeren? You will not let me leave here without saying something to me, will you? I am lonely here without you,"_ the Elf lord said forlornly_. _

_'Please do not leave me,' _came the quietest reply.

_"Ah, Jeren,"_ Elrond said in relief, _"thank the Valar that I found you! How do you fare?" _

_"I fare not well,"_ the girl replied, the voice the smallest bit stronger.

_"What is wrong?"_ Elrond asked. _"Perhaps I could help you, if you would allow it." _

_"I want not to be here,"_ she replied. _"It is all too hard, Lord Elrond. The pain of life is too hard to bear. I have no use here on Middle Earth; everyone would be just as well were I not here." _

_"That is not true, young lady!" _Elrond admonished her. _"I would not be just as well, were you not here. I love you, and it would break my heart were you not within my reach." _

_"You say that only because I am sad,"_ Jeren offered solemnly.

_"I say it only for it is so," _Elrond told her truly. _"Jeren, please come from within your mind to speak to me the normal way. It makes me ill to mindspeak for so long a time. Will you do this for me please?" _

_"I want not to be alive, Lord Elrond," _the girl insisted. _"I think I will stay in here. It hurts not so much wherever this may be. Please do not hate me for not doing as you ask; I hope you understand." _

The pain of mindspeaking was severe for Elrond; he had forgotten how quickly it affected him. That, along with the pain of being unable to convince the girl to emerge from her mind, left him feeling quite bereft and he began to weep. It was the sound of his quiet weeping that Jeren next heard.

_"Lord Elrond," _Jeren asked, alarmed. _"Are you well? Are you weeping?" _

_"I am not well, Jeren," _the Elf lord replied, his voice tearful. _"My head is quaking with the pain of mindspeaking; but it is the pain of leaving here without you that is making me weep. Please return with me, Jeren. I cannot bear to leave you here alone." _

_"Are you telling me truthfully, my lord?" _Jeren wanted to know. _"I matter that much to you, that you would risk such terrible pain to remain here, just to take me back with you?" _

_"I am telling you truthfully, Jeren,"_ Elrond insisted, _"the pain in my head is nothing compared to the pain my heart feels—of leaving you here, and going back without you. I care about nothing else right now." _

_"What need I do to return, my lord?" _Jeren asked, _"I know not how I came to be here, so I know not how to get back." _

_"You simply relax and follow my voice," _Elrond said, smiling at last. _"Can you still hear me, Jeren? _

_"Yes, my lord,"_ the girl replied. _"I can." _

_"Then follow my voice until it sounds as if when you open your eyes, you will see me sitting right in front of_ you, for there I will be."

Jeren opened her eyes, and Elrond was sitting right in front of her, his smile sweet and his face wet with tears. She slowly sat up and he enveloped her into his warm embrace.

"I am sorry, Lord Elrond," she wept. "I meant not to be such trouble to you."

"Hush, my sweet child," he said, stroking her hair. "No trouble have you ever been to me."

They sat together, holding one another, for only a few minutes; Elrond was indeed ill from mindspeaking with Jeren and he had need to care for himself. The Elf lord drew back from the girl.

"Jeren," he said weakly, "I must go to my bed now. Will you stay here and wait for me? Please tell me you will go nowhere—physically or mentally—while I am abed?"

Jeren gazed into Elrond's face, not liking what she saw at all. His face was drawn and pale, and his hands shook with weakness.

"No, my lord," Jeren said. "Go nowhere. I fear you cannot walk that far." The girl rose from the bed, and started to lay the Lord of Imladris down upon the bed from which she just rose.

"No, Jeren," he protested. "You must rest. You are not well."

"I am more hale than are you," she declared. "Please, my lord. Lay here. Allow me to comfort you the best that I may. Then I shall fetch whomever you wish to take care of you better. Please? Do not make me beg. It goes against my very nature, you know." She managed a weak smile at him.

Elrond, though feeling quite ill, could not help but rejoice. Jeren was here—all of her—body, soul and mind—right here before him.

"Very well," he conceded. "Just for a moment. Then if you are up to it, I will have you fetch Estel. He will know what to do for me."

Jeren unlaced Elrond's boots and tugged at them until she got them off his feet. She covered him with the blanket that had covered her just a few moments before. She dropped a quick kiss upon his cheek, promising to return quickly, then left, running quietly down the corridor. As she ran, she prayed all the while that Aragorn would be in the room she knew him to be occupying while he was visiting Imladris. She was passing Lord Elrond's study when she heard voices, and recognizing those of the twins, she quickly veered toward that door and stopped. Without taking time to knock, she burst into the room.

"Aragorn," she said excitedly, forgetting all about formality in her quest for aid for Elrond, "you must come quickly! It is Lord Elrond. He was mindspeaking to bring me back from within my mind, and it has made him weak and sick. He has asked that you come and give him aid."

The twins and Aragorn were the only ones within Elrond's study. They had taken Anardil to his room, and after consoling him the best they could, they left him to try and rest. At Jeren's surprising entrance, they all sprang to their feet, astonished beyond belief for at least the second time that morning. When last they'd seen the girl, she'd hardly even seemed alive.

"Jeren?" Elrohir asked, clearly wondering if it was she.

"Elrohir!" Jeren exclaimed again, "Come on! You all must hurry. Your father is ill. He is in much pain and looks very bad. And it is all my fault. Please, you must come and help him." Without waiting any longer, Jeren ran from the room, hoping they would regain their senses soon and follow. She knew not what had gotten into them, but they seemed slow-witted of a sudden; she would not leave the Elven lord alone any longer because of their apparent lack of attention.

Aragorn was the first to regain some semblance of sanity, and he slapped the back of his hand across Elladan's upper arm.

"You heard her," he declared. "Father's in trouble. Let's get going."

All three of them ran from the study and made their way to the healing halls. By the time they got there, Jeren was already beside the bed in which Elrond lay. She had a damp cloth, damp with warm water, and was rinsing the Elf lord's face and neck, trying to soothe him.

The Lord of Imladris looked bad indeed—especially for an Elf.

Hangover would have been the word that Aragorn would have used, had he needed a firm diagnosis to pin on the malady afflicting the Elven lord he was now tending. The ranger had not been at his father's bedside five minutes when the Elf called for a basin in which to retch. The groans issuing from him in complaint of the severe headache were also proof enough. It was only unfortunate that he had not had the pleasure of any fine drink to at least justify feeling this badly. However, the Elf lord had something better. He had Jeren back, safe and sound—and whole.

"Jeren," Elrond called weakly.

"Yes, my lord?" Jeren replied quickly.

"Pull the chair up and sit you down. It seems I am in need of a bit of comfort, please."

His pitiful gaze was not lost on her, and she was quick to do his bidding. Elrohir and Elladan gave each other looks, wondering without words if their father was really as badly off as he claimed or if he merely needed the comfort of knowing she was whole again. That, and it was also obvious that Jeren was also not in the peak of health herself. Whether she realized it or not, in her concern for the Elf lord, she was in a weakened state as well. Neither knew which scenario their father had on his mind, but they were sure it was one or the other—perhaps it was both. They only smiled knowingly at each other.

Jeren sat there in the chair beside the bed, holding Elrond's hand, her brows together in a frown. Her concern for him was great and was apparent to all who were present. Aragorn found and mixed a pain-reducing herb with a small amount of water and then had Elrond drink it. From the sour look on the Elf lord's face, Jeren wondered if the basin would again be necessary—the tonic must have tasted bad indeed.

"You know, Father," Aragorn said wisely, "Galadriel has told you several times, you must practice the art of mindspeak over a long period of time before you can use it to any great extent."

"Estel—" Elrond said painfully.

"She says, only a few minutes at a time, every other day," Aragorn continued, enjoying being the one lecturing this time, instead of the lecturee for a change. "It would make all the difference in the world, and you could be proficient in the technique for whenever you needed to use it."

Elrond took a tired and exasperated breath and repeated, "Estel—"

"I mean it. Really, Father," he knew he was pushing his luck, but Aragorn was having too much fun now. He knew his father was simply uncomfortable; he was in no danger at all from these symptoms. "Why do you put yourself through this? Even if it is every two hundred years or so? Would it not be worth it, to just learn the skill correctly and then keep it fresh by practicing it regularly?"

"Lord Aragorn," Jeren said with authority she didn't have, but she hardly cared at this point, "please cease harassing Lord Elrond. Can you not see he is in horrible pain? You are being cruel with this onslaught of words. Please, will you stop—my lord?" By the time she had finished bringing the Dunedain Chieftain to task for berating her friend, she had seen the possible error of her ways. She bowed her head, in shame it seemed, so she missed the smile Aragorn gave over her head at Elrond, and she was amazed when she heard him begin to laugh.

Her attention was quickly returned to Elrond, however, when he turned over onto his side and heaved a long sigh. He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off into sleep.

"He must feel truly ill to be sleeping thusly," Elladan remarked to his brothers.

"The valerian I slipped him isn't hurting any," Aragorn said slyly.

"I heard that," Elrond said dreamily, his words somewhat slurred.

"I care not," Aragorn declared. "You are hardly in any position to discipline me at any rate, and with any luck, the valerian will render your memory hazy at best."

"I never forget anything," Elrond said positively, though a bit indistinctly.

The others—except for Jeren—laughed quietly.

"I believe he will be fine now," Elrohir proclaimed. He walked over to Jeren's chair and crouched down to be at her eye level. "Jeren, you should be abed yourself, you know. You have had a very difficult few days."

Jeren's face drew into a puzzled frown, as if she were trying to remember anything of her life before this very moment.

"What are you speaking of, Elrohir?" Jeren wanted to know. "What has been so difficult for me?"

"Jeren," he replied quietly, "I want you to think for me, about the last thing you remember. Do you know what that is?"

The girl pondered a moment, then pondered for a few moments more. She began to look somewhat frightened, and Elrohir took one of her hands in his.

"It is all right, Jeren," he soothed her. "Whatever you remember—even if it is nothing at all—is all right. Remember, my father is an extraordinary healer, and he can help heal your mind, just as he has healed your body. You believe me, do you not, Jeren?" The girl nodded her head. "All right, now; what do you remember?"

"I remember— " she began haltingly, "I remember Aragorn—I mean the Chieftain," she glanced up at Aragorn from the corners of her eyes. He smiled down at her reassuringly, trying to put her at her ease. She began once again, "I remember the Chieftain siding with my father, that I should be fostered with a Dunedain family. I did not agree, and I told them both so—in no uncertain terms—very rudely. I apologize to you now, sir. That was most unseemly of me to speak to you in such a way. I remember running from the house, and I ran and ran some more. I visited several of the gardens, but I wanted to see the valley from on high, so went to one of the waterfalls. It is beautiful from on high, is it not, Elrohir?"

"Yes, Jeren, it is beautiful from such a lofty height," he replied. "Do you remember anything else?"

"Yes, I do," Jeren replied. "It may sound very daft, but—no, it sounds completely daft, actually, but I did see my mother there. I was very bereaved. I wanted not to leave you all—any of you—" Jeren glanced down at the sleeping Elf lord, whose mouth was open slightly, and whose breath was coming regularly as he dozed. She renewed her grip on his hand and continued. "I wanted her to come and be with me, but she told me she could not. I asked her why, for she had helped me very much when the Orcs—when I had been—anyway, she helped me before. She told me she could not come back anymore, that I must come to her. I deeply wanted to go to her; I sincerely did. But that would mean that I would never see any of you at all ever again. And I wanted that not at all, either. I knew not what to do. So I asked my mother to wait, so that I may decide; but I fell asleep, and woke up here. That is truly all I remember Elrohir. And you must think me insane now, for seeing my mother when there is not any way for her to be seen. She is dead, after all, these past three years."

"I think you are not insane, Jeren," Elrohir proclaimed, "simply in need of a good sorting out." He smiled warmly at her. "Father can help you with that, you know, and you will be fine."

"Worry not, Jeren," Aragorn told her kindly, "you will be going nowhere soon. I can see you are not ready to be venturing beyond the borders of Imladris. You are still much too fragile to be fostered with anyone as of yet."

"It is _too_ as I feared," Jeren said defensively, upon hearing Aragorn's revised edict. "I have lost my wits. Even you fear it, Chieftain."

"No," he answered her. "I must merely face facts. You are simply not ready. We were all rushing your healing—much too quickly it would seem."

"That is right, Jeren," Elladan put in, "you need more time, that is all. You have been through too much, and your mind needs time to deal with it all. You had not yet dealt with the Orcs' attack, when your troubles were compounded by having to worry about leaving someplace you had truly come to love. You simply became overwhelmed, and your mind began to react to all the stress you were under. You are not insane, nor are your wits lost. They are right where they belong—within your beautiful head." Jeren smiled at Elladan.

"Thank you all for trying to reassure me," she declared. "It does make me feel better. Yet I feel as if there are parts of the past day that I have not remembered. Is this true?"

The others looked uneasily at one another, but did not comment. Only Elrohir had the fortitude to answer her.

"There are a few things you have forgotten, Jeren," he replied. "But they are for you and my father to discuss when he feels up to it. For now, you should get some rest."

"I want not to leave Lord Elrond," she said quickly. "He would not leave me when I was ill, and in need of comfort."

"Jeren," Aragorn said, the authority of his healer's voice in place, "my father will not be waking for several hours. I dosed him rather heavily with valerian, because he has not been taking rest as he should lately, and I seized the opportunity when I could to remedy that problem. I will leave word here with the assistant healers to have you called when he begins to stir. In that way, you can rest now, so that when he does wake, and he wants to tan my hide, you can dissuade him from it. Will you do me that favor?"

Jeren was thoughtful for a moment. After the way this ranger ruled against her at the council, she should do nothing kind for him, but he was being nice now. She supposed she could do this for him. Besides, he would then owe her. There was no telling what she could exact as payment, if she kept Lord Elrond from doling out discipline to the Dunedain Chieftain for dosing him too high on Valerian root. She decided to agree.

"I will go to my room and rest then," Jeren said. "But swear you will have me called if he moves so much as a toe."

"I swear it," Aragorn told her.

Their bargain was sealed, so Jeren rose from the chair. She sketched a slight bow to all those who were awake, and left the room, but not before she bent over the Elf lord, brushing the hair away from his face, and kissing his cheek in farewell.

The twins likewise kissed their father before they left, leaving Aragorn there alone with Elrond. It would not be long before the assistants arrived for the morning shift. In the meantime, Aragorn sat in the chair beside the bed his father slept in, gently cradling the Elf's long-fingered hand in his own.


	15. Counsels of the Heart

EQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Aragorn loosened the cap from the flask he always carried, and poured half the contents of it between two glasses that sat on the tabletop before him. He and Anardil were seated at the table on the veranda outside of Anardil's room, and Aragorn was trying to reach beyond the wall the other ranger had erected around himself after Jeren—or Jennah—had revealed to all exactly the nature of his relationship with his daughter. This was the Chieftain's second attempt at counseling Anardil; the first had ended without ever a word being said by the distraught father. Outside of simply ordering the other ranger to speak—which Aragorn was loath to do—the Chieftain was almost out of ideas as to how to get through to the stubborn man.

Aragorn pushed the glass toward Anardil, causing the liquid within to slosh perilously close to the rim on either side of the glass.

"Here Anardil," he directed. "It will cure what ails you. It is pure quality gold from the north. Distilled from our own stuff. None of this Elven water. Drink up."

He actually got a response. Anardil looked up into Aragorn's eyes. One corner of his mouth quirked up as he took the glass in his hand and held it up in salute, and downed the contents in just a few swallows. With a grimace and a sharp exhale, he slammed the glass down on the tabletop and uttered the first words he had spoken in two days.

"That would be fine stuff indeed."

"Tis glad I am that you have decided to come to my celebration after all," Aragorn said with just a touch of sarcasm.

"I may as well be drawn out by drink," Anardil said dryly. "A ruined man I am in the eyes of all—not the least of all, myself." The last phrase was so quiet as to barely be heard.

Aragorn refilled Anardil's glass, with the last of the flask's contents.

"There is no need to feel that way, my friend," Aragorn said. "The past is done. If the future can be lived differently, then that is what you will be judged by."

"How can you be so forgiving?" Anardil asked. "Just as Jeren said, I have a black heart; and one as cold as a stone."

"If that were true," Aragorn said, his eyebrows rising as if daring Anardil to prove him wrong, "you would not be caring so much about it."

Anardil did not reply. He found he could not refute the Chieftain's words. He did care—so much so that it tore deep gashes into his soul, painful to the extreme. He had done nothing but ponder Jeren's words—or Jennah's—he was confused as to whom to attribute the words to, if he would be totally honest with himself. His mind told him it was impossible that his dear wife had spoken them. She was dead, and therefore, it could not have been she who had berated him so, the day before yesterday. But his heart had heard her—plain as if she had been standing before him—telling him to his face that his heart had turned black. And well it had. She was right.

"Aragorn," Anardil said, "why are you doing this, man? Do you wish a confession from me? Must I bare my soul to you? Beg your forgiveness? Is that what you want?"

"No, Anardil," Aragorn said with a frown. "I want none of those things. _I_ need not hear it, but _you_ need to say it. I sit here to listen, just so you will have someone to aim the words at, so that you do not feel addlebrained from talking to yourself. Tis not my forgiveness you need beg, and were you to ask it, I could not give it, for you have not trespassed against me. Just say the words, Anardil. Say them, to set yourself free. Then and only then, you may seek to see Jeren and ask her forgiveness. She is the one who has been trespassed against."

Anardil was afraid, and that was an emotion he was finding himself fighting much too frequently of late. He was generally a man of few words, and was especially unused to confessing faults to anyone, let alone the Chieftain of the entire clan of the Dunedain. However, this man was uncommon; from the dealings he'd had with Aragorn, he had always been fair and honest. He had about him an aura of trust as well, that invited one to confide. Anardil knew he would have no better chance to do this, and he felt as if his life was hanging by a mere thread as it was. He could not let his pride stand in the way of making things right with Jeren once and for all.

"I know not where to begin," Anardil said haltingly. "I suppose it went wrong after Jennah's death. I was not there when she died, you know. Jeren had to dig her mother's grave and bury her all by herself. Jennah was gone a full month before I next went home. It devastated me, Aragorn. I had failed them both, yet again." Anardil stopped, his voice grown raspy with emotion. He took a small sip of the liquor, which Aragorn had provided him, setting the glass down gently on the tabletop.

"I knew in my heart of hearts that I was being too hard on Jeren. Yet I used those excuses for my behavior—the ones Jeren had told us all the other morn. I told her many times that the lessons I taught her were of the utmost importance, and I used that excuse to drill her until she could stand no more. Then I would give her a whip with my belt for discipline if she had not done up to my standards, to let her know it was not good enough, because her life depended on it. And well I believed it at the time—at least I told myself that I did. And she had accepted it as a well-trained soldier or ranger might—with dignity and self-control. How proud I was of her. How proud she was of herself; I could see that as well. I treated her as I would have treated any raw recruit of a ranger—no better, no worse. But she was my daughter, Aragorn, my daughter. I should not have been raising my hand to her at all."

"So your extreme sin," Aragorn said, with a bit of relief written on his face, "was to train your daughter—admittedly a very young daughter—as a ranger, Anardil?" Aragorn sat forward, for he had been leaning back in his chair. "Tell me this then, Anardil. Did you use your fist on her? She said as much the other morning. That is against regulations, especially when dealing with recruits. You know that as well as I do."

"I honestly do not recall using my fist on her, Aragorn," Anardil said sincerely. "And I am not one to be drinking on a regular basis, so this cannot be blamed as something I cannot remember from being awash with too much ale."

"I will speak to Jeren when my father says it is all right to do so," Aragorn told him, "and see if perhaps she can shed some light on the discrepancy of this. I believe you, Anardil; I simply think the situation is remembered differently by different people in this case."

Realization of Aragorn's previous comment seemed to dawn on Anardil of a sudden.

"Aragorn," the ranger said, his brows drawing together, "what I did to Jeren was wrong; even trying to paint it as training her as a ranger does not lessen my sin."

"I think _you_ are wrong, Anardil," Aragorn stated. "Tis only my opinion, and I was not present. I only know of what I've known of you for years. You have never acted untoward with any of the young ones you've taken under your wing; never have I had any complaints of you—only praise of your training methods. Tis only the fact that the young one we speak of now is your daughter—a female—and a very young one at that—that would cause me any amount of alarm at all. The fact that she adores you speaks volumes, man. Can you not see that?"

Anardil did indeed feel as if some considerable weight had been taken from his shoulders. Although he still did not feel justified for being so hard on his daughter, at least he did not feel black hearted and cold as a stone inside. He knew he had a long way to go to be the sort of father he wished for Jeren to have—one that she could count on to be there when she needed him. However, outside of retiring, he knew not how to accomplish this goal. At last he felt as if he could breathe deeply again.

"Thank you, Aragorn," he said at last. "Thank you for nagging me until I finally spilt my guts to you. My guilt is still not entirely assuaged, but it has been lightened somewhat. Perhaps after I speak with Jeren—if she will agree to see me—I can begin to mend our relationship. Perhaps I can put forth more than just a half-hearted effort this time."

Aragorn smiled at the ranger. "No thanks needed, my friend. Tis glad I am to have you among the living again. Surrounded by all these Elves, I need all the Human support I can have! Do not be deserting me again!"

Both the men laughed, and together they lifted their glasses in salute, and drank the contents down, slamming the glasses down roughly, and exhaling loudly.

"That would be very fine stuff indeed," Anardil said once again.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond struggled to open his eyes; his eyelids felt as if they had been glued closed with some sort of adhesive. His head no longer throbbed, but the weariness and the feeling of being so heavy that the weight of him may break the bed down clean through the floor, was oppressive indeed. His mouth was dry and tasted foul, and he felt in need of a bath, complete with a good head soaking. That should wake him up—if he could ever wake up enough to rise at all.

After what seemed like forever, he finally managed to open one eye a fraction of an inch. The other opened just a few seconds later. There beside the bed, sitting in the chair, was Jeren—right where she'd been when he'd fallen asleep. _When was that anyway?_

Jeren had been pleasantly surprised when Daeron had come for her as soon as Lord Elrond had started to stir. Lord Aragorn had done exactly as she had asked of him. Lord Elrond was not completely awake when she arrived at the healing halls—far from it. He was barely moving at all. It must have been a full fifteen minutes before his eyelids began to flutter. She was very glad. This way it looked as if she had not left his side. She did not mean to fib to the Elf lord; if he asked her, she would tell him the truth of it. But she felt it would comfort him to find her sitting there when he did finally open his eyes; and she meant to comfort him as much as she could.

"Jeren?" he croaked, for his throat was very dry.

She was right there with a glass of water all ready to quench his thirst. She helped him to drink as she reassured him.

"Yes, my lord," she replied. "It is me. I am well; I've been to my room and have taken quite a bit of rest. I feel right as rain today, sir."

"That I am glad to hear, child," Elrond replied, his voice now his own once more.

"And you, my lord?" Jeren inquired. "Is your pain gone?"

"Completely," he told her. "If I could just shake the effects of the blasted valerian that Estel laced into my tonic, I would be right as rain as well. He will rue the day he did that, when I get my two hands on him."

"Do you not think you will be glad of his aid?" Jeren began her part of her bargain with the Dunedain Chieftain. "You have been running yourself ragged lately—mostly because of me. I am glad that he gave it to you. You were starting to worry me, so tired were you beginning to look."

Elrond cocked one of his steeply arched brows. Suspicion was beginning to cross his clouded mind. But for what reason would Jeren stoop to trickery? If Estel was involved and if his hide was on the line, trickery would not be out of the question. Elrond would be wise to tread cautiously, even though he was dealing with Jeren, trustworthy though she always seemed to be.

"Why the sudden interest in my health, Jeren?" Elrond asked suspiciously.

"Tis not sudden," Jeren answered almost too quickly. "I care for you—you know that well enough by now. Why would I not be concerned, if you overwork and under sleep, and begin to show signs of ill health?"

She had him there. He looked at her from the corners of his eyes, but said nothing more. He would think on this when his mind was clearer. For now, he would bide his time. He was more than a match for Estel any day, but two against one, when his mind was still clouded with valerian, was hardly fair. He would just wait and have it out with Estel when they were alone and his mind was sharp.

No need to rush things when he wasn't feeling his very best—or most astute. If Estel had something up his sleeve—besides his scrawny Human arm—Elrond would discover what it was. Of this the Elf lord had no doubt.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

That evening found Elrond in his own bedchamber, feeling much more like himself. The valerian was completely out of his system finally, and the Elf lord's faculties were once more razor sharp. His tongue was apt to be the same—especially if your name was Estel, and you had been called forth to attend your father for disciplinary action for sins you had committed against his person while he was defenseless. At least, said father claimed as much in the message he'd had delivered to Aragorn's room not five minutes ago.

Aragorn was admitted into Elrond's sitting room, not the least bit cowed by the stormy expression fixed upon the Elf lord's face—at least not apparently cowed. He was a bit intimidated, but would never let that be known by the object of which he had fear, that was for certain, for that would give his father sure advantage. No it was best to play one's cards close to the chest, especially when dealing with Elves.

"Father," Aragorn greeted him, "how do you fare tonight?"

Elrond blinked slowly and shrugged, "Fairly well, I would say," he replied, "considering the flagrant overdosing of valerian I've had to deal with this entire day." He finished his statement off with obvious rancor.

"I certainly hope you took advantage of its properties," Aragorn said, ignoring the Elf's anger. "You have been taking a beating, what with all these strange goings on here lately."

"Strange goings on notwithstanding," Elrond mused, "I am quite capable of deciding when I should sleep and when I should not. Is that most clear to you, Estel?"

"Extremely, Father," Aragorn said derisively.

"You have become quite fresh in your _old age_, young man," Elrond said condescendingly. "I would appreciate a more respectful tone."

"As would I, Father," Aragorn said right back without pause.

The two looked at each other, both glaring for several moments, and it became apparent that both were going to lose the battle over who would _not _smile first. As it turned out, it was a draw. Both chuckled at the same time. Elrond led his son to the set of soft cushioned chairs that sat in a group around a short table that was laden with a decanter and stemware. They both sat in the comfortable seats, and Elrond poured them each a drink, handing one to Aragorn and keeping one for himself. He began sipping his as his son began the conversation.

"I am truly happy to see you are feeling better, Father," Aragorn claimed yet again.

"I hate mindspeaking, Estel," Elrond declared almost vehemently. "I would not have done it had I any other choice. And do not start with me about practice. I have no intention of adding it as something I do frequently to the list of my many talents."

"I did not expect that you would, or else it would have been added by now," Aragorn said, smiling at his father. "Have you seen Jeren—spoken to her about that episode with Jennah?"

"I have seen her, to be sure," Elrond said, "but I have not spoken to her of matters of any import as of yet. I thought we might begin that task on the morrow, if she is willing to, of course."

"I finally persuaded Anardil to open up about his part in Jeren's problems," Aragorn admitted. "Father, if what he is saying is true, his sin is not that terrible."

"And what exactly is he saying?" the Elf lord asked.

"Do not get me wrong," Aragorn qualified, "Anardil is not excusing his conduct, nor am I. However, from how he was explaining things to me, he was training his daughter as he would a recruit of the rangers or a fledgling warrior. Putting her through drills and then drilling some more. He was not taking into account the fact of her youth or her gender, I am afraid, and would punish her for not meeting standard. That is where the disciplinary action would come in. It may seem harsh, but lashes are not unheard of in training, particularly if inattention is the suspected reason. So, yes, he did raise his belt to her inappropriately father to daughter; but if it were commanding officer to trainee, it would not be deemed so."

"It still leaves me cold, nonetheless," Elrond said quietly.

"I expected that it would," Aragorn said. "You have not been in charge on the training fields in centuries, I do not believe, nor do the Elves make it a practice to train females. Am I correct in my memories?"

Elrond let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, you are correct in both of your memories, my Estel," Elrond admitted with frustration. "You need not rub my nose in it."

"I am not intending to rub your nose in it, Father," Aragorn said kindly, "I simply hope that you have compassion to at least see that Anardil thought he had her best interest at heart. I do believe he did think that at the time. He has since seen the error of his ways, and if he is allowed to see her—and she agrees to see him—he intends to tell her so."

"Just one moment, Estel," Elrond said, apparently not appeased. "What about Jennah—I suppose it was she—saying that Anardil used his fist on Jeren? What about that? Did he deny it?"

"He did deny that, Father," Aragorn said, his brows brought together in a frown. "He insists that he does not ever remember raising his fist to her in anger or in any other way. I believe him, and told him I would speak to Jeren about it—see if she can shed some light on the subject for us. It is probably one of those times when one's perspective means the difference. She will see it one way, and he another. We will have to decide whom to believe."

"I know who _I_ will believe," Elrond said, looking Aragorn directly in the eyes.

Aragorn shook his head and smiled.

"Could we just wait to see what she says? Please?"

"As you wish," was the Elf's only reply.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next day, as Elrond said he would, he had a session with Jeren concerning her emotional breakdown of a few days prior. Directly after morning meal, he asked her to accompany him to his study so that they may discuss events that she was still blocking from her mind. She was filled with trepidation, but she trusted the Elf lord implicitly. She knew he would allow no harm to come to her. What harm there could be, she knew not, but she did know she was filled with dread—some unknown fear that left her cold. Elrond's presence was the only thing that convinced her to follow through on her mission to know the complete truth of the missing time her mind would not allow her remember.

Elrond opened the door to his study, ushering the girl in before him, and closed it behind them. He motioned for her to sit on the couch, while he pulled another chair right across from her.

"We are merely going to talk, Jeren," Elrond told her. "There is no need to fear or be tense. I know 'tis hard, but try to relax. What I might tell you is truly not that difficult to hear."

"I hope you are right, my lord," Jeren replied. "I have been fearing I have lost my mind, and the others have been too kind to tell me truthfully about it."

Elrond chuckled. "No, child, you have not lost your mind. First, however, I do wish for you to tell me what you remember about _after _you were retrieved from the falls."

"That is just it, Lord Elrond," Jeren replied. "I remember nothing after falling asleep at the waterfall. One moment I was speaking to my mother, and the next I was falling asleep. After that, I was speaking to you in my mind. Then I opened my eyes, and you were there sitting on my bed with me. That is all I remember. That is all."

"All right, Jeren," Elrond said evenly. "I am going to tell you exactly what went on that day. If at any time during the tale you remember anything, you simply take over the telling, and I will be silent. If you become silent, I will begin the telling again. We will continue the telling of the tale until it is told in full. If I tell the complete tale, then so be it; there is no harm in that. It means not that your mind is lost. It simply means that you did not remember—nothing more and nothing less. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, my lord," Jeren said softly. "I am ready."

Elrond proceeded to tell Jeren the whole story of how Jennah seemed to speak through her daughter, using her child's voice as a way to have herself heard by those who needed to be spoken to. He told her how Jennah told of Anardil's harsh treatment of Jeren, using his belt or leather scabbard, and how Jennah had called Jeren's father black-hearted. Jeren waited patiently through the rest of the story, indicating that she remembered none of it, although she did grimace when hearing of her father's reported abuse of her. At last Elrond finished the tale, and asked Jeren if she had anything she wished to discuss further about the story she had just been told.

"Did everyone hear me say my father was black-hearted?" Jeren asked, almost tearfully. "I truly do not feel that way, my lord. He has a wonderful heart. Of late, he has been through very much stress, as have we all, but he is not black-hearted. I would never say such a thing."

"Jeren," Elrond said hesitantly, "did your father ever strike you with his fist, for you said at one time during that morning that he had."

"No!" Jeren almost shouted. "I mean, no," she said more calmly. "I know not what I could have meant—or my mother could have meant when she said that. Did she mention anything else when referring to that?"

"You merely said, 'Perhaps if you get too angry, your fist will do'," Elrond explained. "Can you think of any time your father may have struck you with his fist—even accidentally—when training you? Perhaps he was teaching you hand-to-hand combat—defense with your fists?"

"I do remember one time—but it was an accident," Jeren insisted. "He told me to feint right, and I mistakenly went left—he hit me. It was my own mistake, my lord; not his. I got quite a shiner, but it did not knock me out! I've a hard head, he said, and we laughed about it—after he quit shaking so badly."

Elrond and Jeren shared a quiet laugh over the memory she had told him. The Elf lord could just see the man he had always known Anardil to be, go white with shock after seeing his fist connect with his daughter's face, and then watch her hit the dirt from the force of his strike. Yes, that sounded more like the ranger he had always known.

"Lord Elrond," Jeren began, "do you think it was really my mother there—inside my body, I mean?"

"I have been pondering that question at length," Elrond admitted. "The mind is a curious thing, Jeren, and I believe it capable of many strange things. I believe your mind could be able to imitate your mother to the extent that we may have believed she was within your body. That said though, you—or she—did say some things that day that you could not possibly have known of, for you had not been born when they occurred. So I cannot discount the fact that it could have been her spirit within your mind with you, as improbable as that may seem. To put it plainly, child, I simply do not know if it was she who was speaking through you. I cannot say yes, but I definitely do not say no, either."

"So any way we look at this," Jeren reckoned, "if I am insane, since the rest of you were there and witnessed the phenomenon also, then you are also insane as well."

Elrond chuckled quietly. "That would be a good way of looking at it, yes," he agreed.

"Well," Jeren said resolutely, "I suppose if I must go crazy, then I have chosen a fine group with which to go there."

Elrond smiled widely and said, "Indeed you have."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

There was quite a crowd in Elrond's study this afternoon, considering the size of the room. The twins and their father were there, gazing out the window and conversing quietly in Elvish about nothing in particular, while they waited for the others who were invited to the meeting to appear. Aragorn came striding into the room next, throwing a greeting to his family, and Anardil followed just a few minutes later. The Elf lord bid those already gathered to sit in seats they would be most comfortable in.

Elladan and Elrohir chose opposite ends of the couch, looking almost as bookends, so alike were they in appearance today. Anardil chose one of the straight-backed wooden chairs that sat at the table in front of the couch. Elrohir eyed the ranger dangerously. Aragorn took that as his cue to seat himself between the twins, to hopefully rein in Elrohir, should he become the handful he could be, if he set his mind to it. This was not lost on the Elf, and his glance at his Human brother was just the slightest bit frosty as well. Jeren came running into the room, slowing abruptly to a walk as soon as she crossed the threshold. Elrond smiled at her returning health. He thanked Eru every day that she had progressed so well—at least physically.

Jeren was a bit nervous. She had not seen her father—at least that she could remember—since that day in Lord Elrond's study, when Aragorn had sided with him, and decided she should be fostered with a Dunedain family. Today they were all meeting to discuss that event and the events that followed—Jeren's flight from the house; her rescue from the cliff side; Jennah's apparent emergence and claims against Anardil, and of course, Anardil's guilt or innocence. All Jeren remembered was her appalling behavior to the Chieftain and her father; she had only heard the story of what she—or her mother—had said, from Lord Elrond yesterday, so she really knew not what to even think about all of that mess.

Jeren crossed the room to where her father sat at the table and stopped, pausing to look at him.

"Hello Papa," she said quietly.

"Hello Jeren," Anardil replied to her. "How are you doing?"

"I do well, Papa," Jeren said, smiling.

"I am glad to hear that, daughter," he said, returning her smile.

"Can we get on with this, Father?" Elrohir asked impatiently.

"Of course," Elrond said, all but rolling his eyes at his son. "Estel and I have met with Jeren and Anardil separately, and since this situation concerns us all in one way or another, we have decided to disclose the findings of our inquiries here this afternoon. Also, both Estel and I each have a few more questions we need to ask both Anardil and Jeren, which we will do here now in a few moments. Estel?"

Aragorn rose from his seat, giving Elrohir a warning eye.

"I have spoken to Anardil at length about his treatment of Jeren, and while he admits that he was too rough on her, and wishes her forgiveness, his motives were genuine, though misguided. His heart is not black nor cold, nor do I believe he ever hit her with his fist; or if he did, it was in no way _any other _than accidental."

"Jeren," Elrond interrupted, "would you please tell us all here what you told me yesterday, about the time your father accidentally hit you with his fist?"

Jeren stood and recounted the tale of when Anardil was teaching her hand-to-hand combat, and she had mistakenly feinted left when he had ordered her right, and the results had sent her sprawling into the dirt. Elrohir's eyes never left the ranger's face as Jeren spoke, and Anardil's never left his daughter's. The Elf could see the anguish in the ranger's eyes, plain as if it was happening again right before him then. It was obvious the blow had been accidental, and even though it had been, the father still held deep remorse for hurting his daughter just the same, accidental or not. Elrohir relaxed somewhat after this tale was made known.

"I remember that now," Anardil said in apparent relief. "I did hit you, daughter. 'Twas an accident, but I did hit you with my hand." Jeren smiled at her father and sat down in her chair once again.

"Anardil told me that he used training methods with Jeren that he used on novice rangers," Aragorn continued. "What he failed to account for, however, was Jeren's gender and her tender age. When she did not perform to standard, he unfortunately disciplined her according to standard procedures."

"You beat your young recruits, Estel?" Elrohir asked, quite a bit of biting prejudice in his tone.

"They are disciplined if they deserve it, Elrohir," Aragorn replied, more than a little annoyed. "Do not the Elves discipline their young warriors do they step out of line? I seem to recall some rather harsh punishments doled out to the novices at the hands of the masters from time to time, or am I recalling wrong, _Brother_?"

Elrohir had the grace to look somewhat disconcerted, for it was true what Aragorn had said. Training for Elven warriors could be seen as brutal sometimes, for the lessons had to be driven home one way or another, and given the respect they deserved at all times. If he were to be fair, he knew the Elves were probably every bit as hard as the rangers, if not more so. He shook his head in answer to Aragorn's question.

"I thought I was remembering it right," Aragorn confirmed. Almost under his breath he added, "It would be a hard thing to forget." Elrond chuckled, for he remembered well the incident to which Estel was probably referring. The archery master had not laid a hand on Estel; he had only horribly embarrassed him. Elrond thought then—and still believed, actually—that Estel would have preferred a good beating to the public tongue-lashing he had received from the Elf in charge of the fourth year novices. Estel was fourteen and the bow had never been his favored weapon. Estel had not been paying attention—again—and was called to task for it loudly and long and in front of everyone. It was something he had never forgotten apparently. And that incident was nothing compared to what some Elves went through at the hands of the masters for more severe infractions of the rules. Beatings, indeed.

"So while Anardil's methods were correct, they were used inappropriately, since Jeren is female and was too young to handle the standards he was teaching," Aragorn concluded. "He has not been found to be a vicious abuser of his daughter—at least not in my eyes. Are there any here who object to my findings?" Aragorn glanced at the others, his regard lingering especially on Elrohir and Elladan.

"I do not object, and I agree with your conclusions," Elladan said quietly. "If Anardil agrees to lighten his methods of discipline, if he indeed intends to continue training Jeren in the future."

"I have no intention of doing so," Anardil admitted.

"Papa!" Jeren complained. "How will I improve?"

"Where you are going, there will be no need for your improvement," Anardil explained. "There will be others there for your protection."

"I disagree with that," Elrohir objected. "No matter where she goes, she will need to know self protection. It only makes sense; she will feel too vulnerable otherwise."

"Elrohir is right," Elrond interjected. "She must continue training—after her bones are fully healed of course. Jeren's experience of being attacked personally by the Orcs has no doubt left her feeling vulnerable, just as Elrohir has said. Being able to defend herself will go a long way in helping heal her emotional wounds."

"If it is in her best interest that she continues training," Anardil said, "then so be it. I will not interfere in her healing in any way. That comes first. However, I will not be the one to see to her training. I believe that would be best left to someone more objective than I."

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, "I believe you speak truly. Also, Anardil, I had emended my opinion of the other day. Given the events that unfolded after our council, I changed my view and decided it would be best to leave Jeren to reside here in Imladris until Lord Elrond deems her completely healed—mentally and physically—and _after_ that time, she shall be fostered with Elenmere's family. What say you to this plan?"

"I agree, Aragorn," Anardil replied. The ranger stood and then turned to the Lord of Imladris and said with the greatest respect, "Elrond, it is my deepest wish that you please keep Jeren here with you, and heal her, body and mind, for as long as it takes to make her well. You know that I cannot repay you, though I would do anything for you—all you need do is ask it of me. You and your family have my deepest thanks and regard, for as long as I live, even if you would not do this thing for me, but I would be eternally grateful to you if you would."

Elrond rose from the chair in which he was seated, and walked over to Anardil. He clasped the ranger's arms and pulled him close for a moment; then released him, smiling all the while.

"You know not how delighted I am to be hearing your words, Anardil," Elrond declared. "Of course she may stay—you may _both_ stay—for as long as you like. All this talk of repayment is—ridiculous, for lack of a better word. I want no such thing. All I ask for is two happy people, when finally she is ready to go her own way. That is all I wish for, Anardil."

"All I wish for is her happiness, as well," Anardil agreed, "and I realize now that my pride is not worth that precious price. I feel as if I almost lost her—not once but twice—in the space of a little over a month. I want her safe first and foremost, and I know she will be that here. And next, I want her happy; that I also know she is here. My pride is not worth either of those two precious things; not at all."

"Papa," Jeren breathed, as she launched herself into her father's arms. She knew she had been right all along. His heart was not black—it had simply been lost for a time. He seemed renewed—almost reborn to himself. It felt so good to be in his embrace; as it had been before—when her mother had still been alive. Things seemed to be falling back into place in her life again.

"Is there anything else we need to discuss here then?" Elrond asked the group. No one spoke, so he dismissed everyone. They all milled about for a few minutes, Jeren doling out hugs to all—even to Aragorn, believe it or not. She was very relieved that she would be staying in Imladris, where her heart truly would be at peace for a while.

Jeren and Anardil went back to the ranger's room and spent the next two hours simply talking to each other. They discussed everything that came to their minds—things of the past, things of the present, and things they hoped would be in their future. Anardil apologized again and again to his daughter, for not being the father he always meant to be, and he promised—and meant it this time—to change the way he did things, so that he would see her more often. He would work out a different type of schedule with Aragorn; one that was more flexible. He did not know how, but it would be done. He was determined, and Jeren believed him this time.

It was late afternoon when Jeren decided to take a walk, to think things over she had discussed with her father. She especially wanted to visit a small, secluded pond, which was fed by a cascading waterfall. It was one she had found on her way to the cliff side falls the other day, when she had been so distraught. It was a beautiful place, and she wished to visit it now that she was in a completely different state of mind. She could only imagine its beauty, now that her thoughts were her own and she was happy.

It did not take her long to find the small hidden glade in which nestled the pond, but she knew right away that she was not the only person who knew of the place. She distinctly heard voices coming from behind the trees within which it hid. Whoever it was, they were speaking softly and laughing quietly—obviously having a nice afternoon. Jeren simply wanted to see who it was that was spoiling her fun, then she planned to move on. So she crept up as quietly as she could, and peered around one of the trees to see into the glade.

Beneath the waterfall, in the waist deep pond was Naith and Elladan, standing naked in each other's arms. He spoke to her, smiling, and she laughed at what he said. Elladan then kissed her lightly. Naith's arms went around his neck, pulling Elladan's face closer to hers, and their kiss became deeper, more impassioned. Elladan's hands began caressing Naith's body—sliding over her breasts and resting on her hips.

Jeren fell back from the tree against which she had been leaning, as if it had been on fire. She jumped up from the ground instantly and began to run, going back to the house as fast as her legs would carry her. She did not cry, nor lose her mind in any way, she was happy to realize. But the shock of viewing the one Elf she felt she loved more than any other, in the arms of the Elf she felt was one of her best friends, was indeed stunning to be sure!

She was still running when she met Elrohir in the corridor outside Lord Elrond's study. She did not even see him, so intent was her mission of making it to her room before she broke down in tears. However, he did see her, and he grabbed her arm just before she whisked past him.

"Jeren," Elrohir called as he barely made contact with her arm, "where are you going in such a rush?"

"Not now, Elrohir," Jeren replied. She thanked the Valar she was out of breath, so Elrohir could not tell how close to tears she was. "I am in a hurry, please."

"What is so important?" he asked with a frown.

"Nothing, truly," she replied. "I have to go now, please."

"Jeren?" he called after her, as she broke free from his grasp. "Jeren!" She continued to run down the corridor, and from the direction she was going, it did not take Elrohir long to determine where she was headed. He decided to follow her. She had been through too much lately to leave anything to chance, as far as he was concerned.

Elrohir reached the door to Jeren's bedchamber, and knocked quietly. He could hear her within the room weeping quietly. It made his heart break to hear her so tormented. She did not answer his knock, so he tried the knob. It was not locked. He thought about how he would react if he wanted solitude and someone intruded. He would be extremely angry—but then, he would have locked his door. He decided that since she did not do so, she really had not wanted solitude that badly. Using this logic assuaged his conscience and he pushed the door open and entered the room, closing the door behind him.

He quietly approached the weeping girl lying across the bed, not even thinking of the fright he would give her when he suddenly appeared beside her. Predictably, she gasped and jumped several inches when he sat down beside her on the bed. He was immediately contrite.

"Oh Jeren," Elrohir proclaimed, "I am sorry. I meant not to scare you. I only wanted to find out what was wrong. My heart breaks to hear you cry like this."

"Well then do not listen, Elrohir," Jeren said, her voice muffled against her mother's quilt she had drawn from the foot of the bed.

"Give me not sass," Elrohir said with irritation. "Give me the reason you are weeping," he said with more gentleness.

"I cannot," she said. "It embarrasses me."

"Oh not the embarrassment stuff again," Elrohir said, almost laughing.

Jeren sat up, indignant. "Get out of here, Elrohir! You are not helping at all!"

The Elf could see by the look on the young girl's face that her heart—as far as she was concerned—was breaking. He decided he did not care what she wanted, he wanted to comfort her. So he gathered her into his arms, in a firm embrace.

"Now tell your brother Elrohir what this is all about," he demanded. "I will not take 'no' for an answer. I care not about embarrassment or anything else. Spill it, young lady, or I shall have to beat it out of you—give you a reason to cry!"

Jeren couldn't help it, she began to laugh. Elrohir could do it every time to her, no matter how bad she felt, it seemed.

"I cannot tell you, Elrohir," Jeren proclaimed again. "You will laugh at me and make fun of me until Arda is no more, and I cannot take your teasing."

"You have my word, I will do neither of those things," Elrohir insisted.

"Oh sure," Jeren said sarcastically. "Not until you get a good chance, you will not."

"You wound me, sister," Elrohir said frowning. "I swore, did I not?"

"Do you truly swear, Elrohir?" Jeren asked in earnest.

"On Elladan's grave, when he has one," Elrohir replied.

Jeren chuckled again, at the inappropriate swear, but decided that Elrohir had never gone against his word to her before, so she thought she could trust him. Also, he would never leave her be until she told him, of that she was certain as well.

"This is going to kill me, but you will nag me forevermore do I not tell you, so here goes—," Jeren began.

"I was out walking just a few minutes ago, and went to a pond—there's a small cascade—do you know the place I am speaking of?" Jeren asked.

"I know the place," Elrohir replied. "A very pretty place it is."

"Yes, I thought so too," Jeren said dejectedly. "Anyway, I had planned to go there, just to visit there awhile, but there was already someone there—two people actually. Elladan and Naith were there, and they were—sort of—well—"

"Enjoying the waterfall?" Elrohir interjected. "Perhaps without many clothes on? Together?"

"Yes, that's it," Jeren said.

"Did that shock you?" Elrohir asked quietly.

"Yes," Jeren replied.

"You knew what they were doing, did you not?" Elrohir asked plainly.

"I think so," Jeren said. "They were going to make love, I think. Or perhaps they already had."

"Yes," Elrohir said, a faint smile on his face. "That is probably right. I hope that didn't frighten you."

"Well," Jeren said hesitantly, "not exactly; not at first. My first thought was one of jealousy. You see, Elrohir—and this is the most embarrassing part, the part I do not wish to be teased about—I am in love with Elladan. I mean it. I love him with all my heart. But he, like you, loves me as he would a sister—he told me this one time. But while I love you as I would love a brother, I do not feel that way about Elladan. I know not why this is so, but it is. I hope I do not hurt you by telling you this."

Elrohir smiled warmly at the girl and laid a hand on her arm.

"You do not hurt me, Jeren," Elrohir assured her. "I am happy for your love in whatever form it takes. But I am concerned about your love for Elladan—not because you are unworthy or anything of that sort, but because love between an Elf and a Human is fraught with complications. It is simply heartache that is best left undone. That is my only concern in your profession of love for my brother. _And _this is something you need to speak with him about. I am sorry your heart was trod upon, by having to witness him with Naith at the pond. That had to be hard. Is there anything I can do to ease your heart?"

"Just knowing that you care helps, Elrohir," Jeren said, as she hugged him once again. "I wish I could get the picture of them together out of my mind," she whispered loudly. "It leaves me cold. I have always liked Naith so much, but right now, I hate her. And that isn't fair. She knows not how I feel about Elladan. It is not her fault I am in love with him, and she did not know it. But I do not know how I am to face either of them, and act as if nothing is wrong. What am I going to do about that, Elrohir? What?"

"I wish I knew what to tell you, young lady," Elrohir said. "My only advice is to speak to Elladan as soon as you can. Get this out in the open. You will feel better, you will know where you stand, and he will know how you feel. He can talk to you about the relationship between Elves and Humans and the complications they face were they to attempt to bind themselves to one another. It has been done, but rarely; and the result is never ideal. Talk to him, Jeren; that is my only advice."

"All right, Elrohir," Jeren replied. "I will do that. And thank you for helping me. It feels nice having family around and not being alone all the time. I was used to it, but now I am glad I do not have to be used to it any more."

"You will never have to be alone ever again, young lady," Elrohir said. "Never again."

The two of them stayed sitting on Jeren's bed for a good while longer, Human girl nestled in an Elven embrace, happy to not be alone.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

A/N: Dear readers, I want to confess here and now, I have no idea whether it would be permissible to beat poor recruits for inattention during training exercises, but I sincerely wanted to get Anardil out of the doghouse, so to speak, so I took a few liberties with this aspect of ranger training. I hope you can see your way clear to pardon my artistic license to do this.

While I am at it, I want to say that we are almost finished with Jeren's story, at least this phase of it. I will wrap it up in the next chapter or so.

Thanks for reading,

Evereven


	16. Accepting Your Heart

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

"You have been strangely reticent these past few days, Jeren," Elrond told her as they walked a garden path one evening just before the sun set for the day. The dramatic mural painted in the western sky above the peaks surrounding the valley was electric with color—awesome hues of fiery orange, blending to torrid garnet red. It hardly matched the mood of the girl to whom the Lord of Imladris spoke, for she was blue from heartache still—the Elf she held dear to her heart she had seen in the arms of another, and the image burned in her mind's eye still, and stung her heart every time she viewed it.

"I am sorry, my lord," Jeren replied. "'Tis nothing really. I know not what to speak of. I suppose I am 'talked out', as it were."

Elrond chuckled. "You have always been so full of questions, my dear, about the Elves—their history, their lives, their nature. Have you learned all you care to know of us, then?"

"Oh no!" she returned quickly. "I have simply been preoccupied, that is all."

"Care you to elaborate on what has been weighing on your mind?" Elrond wondered if she realized she had just been ensnared into revealing she did, indeed, have a problem. The look she gave him told him she had realized it immediately. _No dimwit this girl._

"I am sorry, my lord," she apologized, "but for now I do not wish to speak of it."

"That is quite all right," he told her. "However, there is something I have been meaning to speak with you about for a few days now. You and I should begin having sessions, when we should delve into your feelings about the attack the Orcs made on you." He was watching her specifically to note her reaction to his words. He needn't have been watching closely. She stopped in her tracks to look at him.

"Why must we do that, Lord Elrond?" she wanted to know. "It brings me fear and disgust and makes me feel terrible when I think of it, much less speak of it. Why would you do that to me?"

"Not in order to make you feel any of those emotions, or out of some perverse enjoyment I may get out of the process, I can assure you," he said sadly. "The severe reaction you had from all the stress of the council with Estel, told me of your need of deeper emotional healing, and the only way to achieve such a goal is by counseling you myself. Unless this is done, you may always be subject to blackouts such as you experienced after the council meeting. Not only blackouts, but I fear you may also experience traumatic 'reliving' episodes, where some trigger may set your mind off to thinking you are back in that situation and time, and it is happening all over again. You have experienced it before. Do you remember doing so?"

"No," she said in surprise. "When did I do this?"

"Right after it happened," Elrond advised her. "Elladan and Elrohir told me about it. It was while you were still very ill, before the twins brought you here."

"No," Jeren repeated, "I do not remember such a thing. I sincerely hope that does not ever happen again. But, Lord Elrond, I do not want to do this. It frightens me to think about those beasts and what they did to me. I am afraid!"

"I know you are, sweet child," he said, embracing her. "I wish there was another way. I wish this had not befallen you at all, but that does not change the fact that it did. All I can promise is that I will be there with you through it all; I will hold you and give you strength, though in truth, you do not need it. You are a very strong person, Jeren, whether you realize it or not."

"I feel not strong right now," she admitted. "I feel like a child, about to have a bad dream; and I know it, but I am forced to go to sleep anyway, for my own good. I know all this, my lord, and I trust you, and I love you—but I am afraid this will make me hate you. I want that not to happen."

"I want that not to happen, either," Elrond said sincerely. "However, if your hate I do incur, it would be worth the price, did I make you whole once more, even though it would grieve me deeply. You mean the world to me, Dear One, and I would see you happy and whole to live your life fully—as every Human woman should."

Jeren hugged the Elven lord so tightly he had trouble taking deep breaths, but he minded it not. He meant every word he said. He loved her as his own flesh and blood—Human though she was. After several long moments, they resumed their walk. The sun had all but set now, and the sky had been painted in hues of blue—this time reflecting the mood of both of those strolling the garden path arm in arm.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond and Jeren began the sessions the following day. He gave her the option of waiting a few days, but she would not put it off—the process of waiting was almost as painful and terrifying as she feared the counseling would be. The first session was extremely hard on them both, even though they did not even get to the actual defilement itself. In actuality, Jeren only made it to the part in the story where she was dragged from the thicket after Jones had been brutally shot down, before she became incoherent with fear. Elrond, truthfully, could not have gone on either. He had wept not a few tears himself by the time the session was over and was exhausted just as the girl was. Both of them took to their respective beds for the remainder of the day, then sought each other's company that evening.

Jeren timidly knocked upon the Elf lord's bedchamber door, after having searched for him downstairs in his study of course. That was usually where one found him after evening meal. Neither had taken their supper with the others in the dining room, though neither knew that, obviously. Hearing his invitation to enter, she opened the door slowly. She knew not what she was afraid of, but she had never been into Lord Elrond's private rooms before, and it seemed strange to be entering them now—almost like breaching a sacred place.

She was surprised to find herself in a small sitting room upon her entry into the Elf lord's private domain. He was there sitting with a book on his lap, having obviously been reading. He looked as Jeren had never seen him before—unadorned. He wore no robes. He only had on a plain tunic and leggings, very similar to those worn by Elrohir and Elladan, when they were going out hunting. His hair was unbraided and fell in lustrous ebony sheets around his face and shoulders. He had pulled it all around one shoulder, and it was very long when left unhindered as it was. He was beautiful! She had never thought of him as being beautiful before, but he was, she now realized. He did not look as young as the twins, but he was not old at all. Elves were certainly mysterious, and she did not think she would ever grasp the idea of their immortality—not really.

Elrond smiled at her, wondering just what she was thinking.

"Close your mouth, lest flies take it for a new home," he said in jest.

Jeren giggled. "I am sorry for staring at you, my lord," she said, still laughing, "but you cut quite an image sitting there in that fashion."

"Yes?" he asked, his curiosity roused. "And what fashion is that, Jeren?" He looked down at himself. "I am at my ease. A slovenly fashion? Is that what you are referring to?"

"Valar, no!" she retorted. "You are most handsome!" Then she blushed and turned away. She could not believe she had said such a thing to the Elf lord. She felt about him like a father; how could she think of him in such a way?"

It was Elrond's turn to chuckle this time. He closed the book, and shook his head.

"Come in and close the door," he directed. "I would like to see how you fare tonight."

She did as she had been told, and sat in an overstuffed chair opposite the Elven lord.

"I fare well, I believe," Jeren said. "You left me in a healing sleep, so I did not dream, and I awoke feeling very refreshed as I always do. I was brought a light meal, I took a bath, and decided to seek you out. I wanted you to know that the first session has not left hatred in my heart for you." Her smile let him know she was teasing him, though the information was true.

"It sounds like we had a very productive session," he declared. "We will do this only one time per week—same day and time. Neither one of us can abide more trauma than this."

Jeren smiled. "I realize now that I was selfish in my thoughts at first. I was thinking that the counseling was only going to affect me. I can see that it hurts you as well. Not only do you feel pain for what happened to me, you are reaching out to me with your mind when you do this, aren't you, Lord Elrond? That is why it is leaving you so exhausted. It is not quite like 'mindspeak', but it is along the same lines, is it not?"

"You are a very perceptive child, Jeren," Elrond commented.

"Please, call me not a child!" Jeren admonished him. She lowered her head in shame at having raised her voice in anger at someone who had done so much for her and shown her nothing but love and concern.

"I am sorry, my lord," she was quick to add. "Please forgive me for being so malicious. I have no right nor cause to speak to you in such a way."

"I will try to remember not to refer to you in such a manner," Elrond replied, feigning hurt. "But you must remember, a man of ninety is a baby to me, so such things are terribly easy for me to forget."

"That makes me feel worse," Jeren said ruefully. "I had not thought of that at all."

Elrond laughed. "Ah! I still have it! The parent's ability to lay guilt upon the errant child! Tis always a useful thing in the 'father's bag of tricks'.

Jeren picked up a pillow that lay upon another chair, and threw it at the Elf lord. He caught it easily and threw it back.

"But I would know, Jeren," Elrond said with much less levity, "why does my calling you a child bother you so much all of a sudden? It is obvious to me you are no longer a child, after the comment you made about my appearance just after you entered the room. Do not be embarrassed, I certainly took no offense, and I do not believe there is anything wrong in you finding me attractive. However, if you begin looking at me as you have been looking at Elladan; well, that will be another matter."

Jeren went pale as the sheets on the beds in the healing halls. She could not believe she had heard the Elf lord correctly—especially the part about Elladan.

"I—what do you mean?" she stammered.

"It has been obvious to me for many weeks that you are enamored of Elladan," Elrond said kindly. "I can well understand it; he is a very loving and kind Elf. However, I want not to especially speak of that, if you do not wish to. What I do wish to speak with you about is whatever has been bothering your heart the past few days. You say you do not want to talk about it, but things are rarely solved unless confronted. Are you taking steps to resolve the issue that is conflicting your life?"

Jeren looked at her hands in her lap, which she had begun to wring painfully. Perhaps she should seek counseling from the Lord of Imladris for this problem as well. _But it was so horribly embarrassing!_ However, she knew Lord Elrond would not laugh, nor make jests at her expense when she told him of her love for his son. He had all but said it himself just now anyway! Yet she did not know how he would react to the news. She feared he would indeed think her a child, incapable of such feelings yet—especially when they were speaking of a thousands-year-old Elf and an only slightly over a decade-old human girl.

"I truly know not how to tell you what bothers me, my lord," Jeren began. "It is so embarrassing—" Her voice trailed off, and she did not finish her thought.

"I would think embarrassment would be something we would not have between us," Elrond assured her, "after so much intimate healing I have had to do on your person. If you think I may be of some help, I would be glad to listen. I will not judge you, nor lecture, if that is what you fear. I will not even give advice if you do not want it. I will simply listen at first; sometimes that is all one needs—just to know we are not alone in our grief and misery. If you decide you want advice or counsel, simply say so, and I will do my best to guide you. Or, speak not of it. But it does worry my heart to see you so saddened. I wish to set it aright, even though it is not my place to do so. It is your own. As you said before, you are no longer a child."

Jeren thought about what the Elven lord had told her, and decided he was right. She could stew over this problem forever and it would not go away. Besides, she still had the dilemma of what to do about Naith and Elladan—she could not go on avoiding them forever. They were becoming suspicious, and she knew not how many new excuses she could come up with to escape their company whenever they entered a room she was in and she sought immediately to flee.

"All right, my lord, I will tell you," Jeren agreed. "But please remember; you promised not to lecture me. I fear the temptation for you to do so will be great when I have finished with what I have to say."

"I promise, I will remember," Elrond swore. _His curiosity was very piqued—what could she possibly have done that would warrant lecturing from him?_

"The other day after we met in your study, and Lord Aragorn declared that my father was not a vicious abuser of me, my father and I talked for quite a long while. We had a wonderful time. He spoke to me like he had never spoken to me before—like I was a grown up woman. It felt good, Lord Elrond, and it did my heart very much good, too."

"I imagine it was a good meeting, Jeren," Elrond agreed with her. "Anardil is a good man; he has been a friend of the Elves for a very long time. He lost his way for a while, that is all."

"Yes, that is how I see it now as well," Jeren said. "After our talk, I went walking. I decided to visit a pond I had found on the day of the council with Lord Aragorn—when I went somewhat daft and went to the cliff side. The pond I was going to has a beautiful cascading waterfall—do you know the spot to which I refer, my lord?"

"I do, indeed," he replied. "It is a favorite spot of many of the Elves—quiet and secluded."

"I certainly found that out," Jeren said warily. "I also found out what most of them use it for, apparently."

Elrond's eyebrows shot up. "You stumbled upon a couple there, did you?"

"I did," Jeren told him. "It upset me very much."

"Considering what our counseling sessions are about," Elrond said kindly, "I am not surprised that it did."

"I am not sure if that is the entire reason it upset me," Jeren admitted. "In fact, I know for a fact that it is not. I know not if it would have mattered at all, if it hadn't been for the identity of the two Elves that were there—naked—in the pond."

"Oh," said the Elf Lord, "you knew who they were, and that embarrassed you as well. Had they seen you? Was that the problem? Did they get angry? Think perhaps you were eavesdropping?"

"No," Jeren said wanly, "they knew not that I was there. No sir—you see—I am in love with one of those Elves that I saw in the pond and he was with another."

"In love?" Elrond asked her, his eyebrows rising. "I did not think you would have been here long enough to have fallen in love with someone already—oh—" Elrond suddenly realized that one of the Elves Jeren was speaking about was one of his sons, and it wasn't Elrohir.

"Remember your promise, my lord," Jeren said in a fussing tone.

"Oh yes, quite right," he uttered in contrition. "Sorry. Please continue."

"Well, naturally, I see these two Elves _all _of the time," Jeren continued, "and I find it unbearable to be near either one of them now. It is hard enough just thinking about the incident, but when I see them—especially if they are together—it makes me feel absolutely like I just may lose whichever meal I have last eaten! I need help to get the image of them kissing and holding each other out of my mind. They were going to make love, I am almost sure of it. Elladan had his hands all over Naith's naked breasts, and not only did that disgust me because I love him, but it gave me funny feelings I have never felt before. I do not know how to handle any of it, my lord. I am very confused and my heart is hurting. I would like advice, but not any lectures about how he is too old, and I am too young. I just want to know how to make it stop hurting, and how to overcome the feeling that I cannot be in the same room with them any more."

"Ai, Jeren," Elrond said, shaking his head. "You certainly have a way of complicating your life, young one." He rose, placing his book on the table beside his chair, and went to crouch beside Jeren.

"I wish I had some magic answer for you," he said softly. "The heart is a delicate thing—it does not always behave in a reasonable manner. I will spare you the lectures you fear and tell you simply that in order to move past this problem, you must go to the source. You need to speak with Elladan. He can tell you what is in his heart—that is something I know nothing of. As to being able to face him and Naith again—that will simply take time. After you speak to my son about this, and he tells you his heart concerning his feelings for you and his feelings for Naith, you will be able to move past this hurt. I know it feels now as if that is an impossible thing; but trust me, it will happen. The best thing for you to do is to tell at least Elladan what you witnessed and how you feel about that. Getting your feelings out in the open has a way of liberating your mind—you will be surprised at how much better you will feel—_in the long run_. I do not say that my son will tell you he loves you, or that you have a future together. I know not what he will tell you, Jeren. But even if he says there is no hope for the two of you to ever be together, confronting this will free you. Just as our sessions concerning the Orcs' use of you, will ultimately free you of their emotional hold on you. Does any of this make sense to you at all?"

Jeren smiled somewhat sadly at the Lord of Imladris. "It does make sense," Jeren admitted, "but I am horrified of doing it. Part of me is very afraid he will laugh at me—that he will think me much too young to know my heart. Dare I risk it, Lord Elrond?"

"I think that is all you can do, Jeren," Elrond told her quietly. "You cannot remain tied in knots over this indefinitely. And knowing Elladan as I do, I know he will not laugh nor make fun of you. Do not forget, he loves you—it may not be in the way you would wish it to be, but he loves you just the same."

"Yes," Jeren said, "he does love me. He has told me he does—as a sister. But I will heed your counsel, my lord. I will speak to him as soon as I may. I am very tired of feeling dismal about this problem and I would know the answers to my questions once and for all."

"That's a smart girl." Elrond smiled at her warmly. "Whatever happens with him, know that you can come back and speak with me. I still will not lecture, even though you may have to remind me a few times. Now, you should be getting yourself to your bed. I grow tired, do you?"

"Yes I am." Jeren wrinkled her brows as she realized just how tired she was. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I do appreciate all the time you take for me. I am merely one lowly Human girl, and you treat me as if I was someone important."

Elrond stood and took Jeren by the arms, pulling her up to stand. He gently shook her the slightest bit.

"Never let me hear you utter those words again," he admonished her. His face was stern, and she was of a mind that he might really be angry with her. "You are extremely important to me, else I would not take the time to spend on you. Do you think I tell just anyone that I love them? Well I can tell you that I do not. I reserve those words for people I hold dear and no one else." He softened his face, and smiled at her.

"Now get you to bed and think no more of your troubles. I will see you in the morning. Sleep well."

Jeren smiled and embraced the Lord of Imladris. "I love you. Thank you for everything."

She left the room and Elrond watched her as she closed the door. He went back to his chair and sat down, retrieving his book. He opened it at where he'd left off in his reading, but instead of looking at the words, he stared into space.

_Elladan, my son, be careful of her heart. She knows not what she feels, and neither do you._


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Jeren was already frustrated and she had not even had her morning meal yet!

After she had spoken to Lord Elrond last night, she had awoken early this morning with a new determination that she would tell Elladan everything today—that she loved him—that she had seen him making love to Naith at the pond the other day—and that she wanted to be with him forever. The only problem with her plan was that Elladan was not cooperating! She could find the Elf nowhere!

She had of course looked in his bedchamber first off. She had knocked and he had not answered. Thinking he may be asleep, she had even peeked inside, but he had not been there—not even in his bathing room—she'd checked in there as well. She'd then gone to the kitchen, where the aroma of the morning meal being made was making her stomach growl and her mouth water, but he was not there either. She checked in the stable, but Elladan's mare was still tucked into her stall, content with her morning's ration of oats, munching away.

Jeren was now on her way to the armory, to see if perhaps anyone there knew of the Elf's whereabouts. She could think of another place he might be, but she would die before she would knock on Naith's door and ask to speak to Elladan!

She paused outside the armory door. There were many voices coming from within—and footsteps headed for the door! She hurriedly stepped away from it, and just in time. It swung outward and she narrowly escaped being hit as it quickly swept out in an arc.

The Elves who stepped out of the armory did not even pause; they continued conversing with one another and walked back toward the house. There was Glorfindel, Elrohir, Galion, Tarmenel, Celduin, _and_ the object of Jeren's quest—Elladan. _Finally_. Behind those six emerged Aragorn and Anardil and Jeren suddenly opened her ears to what they were saying. They were about to go off on another patrol—and they were leaving today!

Jeren quickly jogged forward to catch up with the groups. They were all walking very quickly.

"Papa," Jeren said breathlessly, as she drew up even with her father, "did I hear you aright? Are you leaving today on patrol?"

"Jeren," Anardil exclaimed, "where did you pop out from—thin air? I did not see you standing there!"

"Never mind, Papa," Jeren insisted. "Is it true? Are you leaving today?"

"Yes, daughter," he replied. "It is true. As soon as we can be ready, we will be off."

Jeren thought on this for a moment. She had to tell Elladan today. She could not continue worrying about this, and Valar only knew when he and Elrohir would return from this patrol. It could be weeks—or months. She could not let Elladan go without telling him all she had to say.

She ran ahead, catching up with the Elves who were almost to the house by now.

"Elladan," she panted, "could I speak with you, please?"

"I'm not sure, Sweetling," he said with a laugh, "it doesn't sound like you can speak at all. Perhaps you should wait till you can breathe easily again before you try talking."

"How funny," Jeren said sarcastically. _She could do very much better without him treating her like an infant. _"Not here, though. I must speak to you privately." She commended herself on how well she sounded this time. She was breathing much easier, and she'd chosen her words carefully.

"Very well," Elladan told her. "Come with me to my chamber. I need to gather a few things together. You can speak to me while I do this. Will that be all right?"

"That will be fine," she replied.

She followed him up the stairs and into his bedchamber, closing the door behind them. He busied himself with gathering the clothes and supplies he would need while out on patrol, and Jeren began pacing nervously. She wandered out onto his veranda, standing at the railing overlooking the valley.

Elladan stopped and followed the girl with his eyes. He'd had a conversation with his father this morning, a not altogether pleasant conversation, actually. Not that his father had been angry with him or anything of the sort. These things happen. Jeren had developed feelings for the person who had saved her life—a 'hero worship', if you will. It was no one's fault; it simply was a fact of life. Now he merely had to find a way to tell a young girl that she would live to love someone other than him; that he was not the love of her life, and that they would never be together romantically. The question would be 'how'?

"Jeren?" Elladan prompted.

Jeren didn't know how to start, so she decided to jump in with both feet.

"I'm in love with you, Elladan!" she said in a rush. When the Elf said nothing and indeed, did not even look that surprised, she went on, "I have been for quite a while. I think about you all the time, and I love you more that anything or anyone in the whole world." Jeren dropped her eyes to the floor, because the next part of her speech was very hard, and it was going to embarrass her to say it.

"The other day, I accidentally came upon you and Naith at the pond, and you were—you were both—you were about to—anyway, it upset me very muchand that is why I have been avoiding you both."

This time Elladan _was _a bit taken aback. Being caught by an audience out in the woods while making love wasn't that shocking. Most Elves have stumbled upon a couple now and then; it is not a cause for concern. But having _Jeren_ see them was different. First of all, she was a young Human girl, and Human standards are very different from Elven ones. The shock for her would have been great under the best of circumstances. But Jeren's case was even more unique. She had been raped. He wondered just exactly what she had seen. He wondered if it had frightened her. He sincerely hoped it had not.

Elladan started toward her and she hung back slightly. She knew not why she shrunk from him, but she did just the same. He stood still and spoke from where he was.

"I am sincerely sorry that you saw what you did," he told her. "I hope we did not cause you fright, Jeren, or set you back in any way."

"No, Elladan," Jeren said sadly. "It was only pure jealousy I felt. I wished for you not to be with Naith at all. I wished for you to be with me." Jeren turned away from him, embarrassed for being so blunt, but wanting him to think her old enough to understand exactly what it meant to be in love—and to make love.

"That can never be, Sweetling," he told her gently.

"Call me not _Sweetling_!" she said forcefully. "It sounds as a name you would call a child. I am seventeen years old. That is quite old enough to know my own heart Elladan, whatever you might think!"

"You told us you were but sixteen," he said, trying to diffuse the situation somewhat. "Since when did you add a year?"

"Since my birthday two days ago!" she said near tears. No one remembered but her—not even her father!

Elladan dropped his head in defeat at the terrible hurt he knew that must have caused her. Elves celebrated their begetting day, but he knew Humans set great store in celebrating their birthdays. Many a birthday did they celebrate of Estel's, much to the young Human child's delight. And now half the Elves Jeren knew—plus Estel and Anardil—were deserting her today. Wonderful. And he was telling her not only was he not in love with her, but that there was no future for them ever. _What a wonderful day this girl was having. _

"I wish I could tell you I was in love with you Jeren," Elladan said, "but I cannot. To start with, I am over two thousand years old. I have seen things and done things your mind cannot begin to grasp—things your father's mind cannot begin to grasp, sweetheart. Were you ninety-seven, and not just seventeen, the difference would still be too overwhelming. And look at me, Jeren. Two thousand years old. I look not a day over thirty, you once said. When you are seventy, I will still look not a day over thirty. And let's just say I let myself fall in love with you, and I loved you with all of my heart. Since you are Dunedain, you would last a mere one hundred fifty or sixty years or so—and then you would die and leave me for all time—leave me with a broken heart to fade away. An Elf loves only once in his lifetime you know. We are not as Humans, and able to love again if we are unfortunate to lose our mates to death. You may call me selfish if you like, but I would think myself insane to purposely put myself in that position. Can you understand what it is I am telling you?"

Jeren had been listening to Elladan with her total attention, and as much as she did not want to understand what he was telling her, she could not deny that he made complete sense. She wanted to weep and rail against the unfairness of it all! But she wanted to know—was it the fact that she was not attractive to him at all that kept him from loving her, or was it simply that she was Human, and the problems facing them too great to overcome?

"Elladan," Jeren started quietly, "would you answer a question truthfully for me please? I have to know. Could you love someone like me—ever? I mean not just some Human woman. I mean me—in particular. Look at me and tell me. Do you see a woman who could please you?"

The Elf looked at the girl—young woman—with different eyes. There before him sat a young woman with ebony hair and silver-gray eyes. She was pretty, in a rugged sort of way. She was a woman not afraid of hard work, and made lean and strong by the doing of it. When he looked at her in this way, he could see the shape of Estel's face in hers—the high cheekbones and pointed chin. Elladan smiled. She was a pretty little thing, now that he looked at her. He'd never bothered before; at first he'd seen her through a healer's eyes, and then he adopted the eyes of a brother when looking at her.

"You are a very pretty woman, Jeren," Elladan replied at last, "and you will make a fine wife to one of the rangers who ride with your father and Estel—later in your life when the time is right."

Part of her wanted to beat on the Elf and tell him none of it mattered. Tell him that they should live in the moment—worry about the future when the future arrived. Of course that would be easy for her, because her future was finite—as he'd reminded her, only one hundred fifty some odd years. Elladan, on the other hand, had a future never-ending; he would continue on and on, whether she was with him or not.

She'd had a conversation with Naith—before the fateful day at the pond—in which the Elf had explained all about the Elven way of love—how they bonded but once, and if one of the pair was to die, the other could very well fade away and die of a broken heart. What Elladan told her was the truth—if he fell in love with a Human—deeply in love—and the Human woman died at the end of her life, Elladan could be doomed to a slow, painful death, simply because of the loss of his love. If he married an Elven woman, like he was supposed to do, they would both live forever and he would be fine. She should just leave Elladan alone, and go about her life the best that she could. Perhaps she would get over him, given enough time. Right now it felt like she would not, but she was still very young. Perhaps all the 'so called' adults were right. Perhaps her heart would heal from this hurt of loving Elladan. She thought not, but what choice did she really have?

"Well, I hope for my sake that you are right, Elladan," Jeren said sadly, "But I know in my heart that you are the only one for me."

Elladan knew not what else to say, so he left it at that. He placed his hands on either side of her face and gave her a sweet, brief kiss on the lips.

"You will find the one who is right for you, Jeren," he said. He straightened up and checked the bow he had strung across his shoulder.

"I suppose I am off with the others now, to go and hunt some Orcs," he said, his face like flint.

"Slay them heartlessly, Elladan," Jeren said with venom, "kill at least a thousand for me."

"Consider it done, lady," he said.

And with that, he was gone, and Jeren was there, looking at his back as he left. She turned to the railing, again looking out over the vista that was the valley of Imladris. It wasn't long before she could see the party of warriors as they made their way out of the vale, into the wilderness, where the wild things were which they hunted.

Jeren lingered in Elladan's chamber for a little while, looking at some of his things. He really kept very Spartan surroundings—there were very few things adorning his chamber, so those that were there, must have been very special to him. On her way out of the door, Jeren caught her image reflected in the mirror that hung over a desk. She looked at herself in that mirror, trying to see herself as others saw her. Her dark hair, which she pulled back in a braid, trailed down her back; her widely spaced gray eyes fixed between two high cheekbones, were slightly tilted upward at the outer corners; her small mouth just above her gently pointed chin was pleasant enough. She had the scar at the corner of her left eye, but that didn't matter to her at all. As Elrohir was so fond of saying, it was her banner of courage for all to see. Was she pretty? She had no notion at all. Nor did it matter. If Elladan did not want her, she saw no point in worrying over it any longer. She could not imagine having these deep feelings of love for anyone else, ever again.

She shook her head slightly. She had told Elladan how she felt, but now she wondered—did she feel better as Lord Elrond told her she would? Or worse? Of course, she had to remember he also had told her 'in the long run' she would feel better, even were Elladan not to return her affection. At least she would not be wondering how he would feel or react to the news any longer.

She closed the door behind her as she left, and ran down the stairs two at a time. She hoped that the Lord of Imladris was in his study again. She imagined he had seen the riders off on patrol when they'd left a short while ago. It would also help if he weren't in some meeting with Glorfindel or Erestor. She really hoped to talk with him. Her mind was all mixed up with these thoughts and feelings about Elladan and men and women—and just life in general.

She skidded to a halt in front of Elrond's study door, stopping momentarily to regain her breath. _If she wanted to be considered an adult, she supposed she should begin acting like one more often._ She knocked softly upon the closed door. She heard the muffled 'enter' clearly and went in.

"Ah Jeren," Elrond said smiling slightly. He was sitting at his desk, and had paused in the writing of some message or other. "In all the excitement, I missed morning meal and neglected greeting you this morning. I trust you slept well?"

"Well enough," she admitted. She did not say anything more; she just sat down in a chair beside his desk.

Elrond laid the quill he'd been using down on the blotter and sat back. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, steepling his hands and twining his fingers together in front of his chest.

"You did not come down to the courtyard to see the patrol off," he said sedately, "was anything wrong? Your father missed saying goodbye to you."

"He also missed my birthday two days ago," Jeren retorted smartly, "so I guess that makes us even."

"My but your tongue is sharp this morning," Elrond quipped. "Come no closer to me, lest it lash out and cut me by mistake."

"I am sorry, my lord," Jeren said, looking contrite. "I just thought my father and I were getting on better is all; and then he goes and forgets an important day like that. It hurts me, that's all."

"I am afraid it is a bane of the male sex, Jeren," he told her with a guilty half grin. "Dates and occasions are not our strong suits, I fear. Try not to hold that against Anardil too harshly. If you will recall during your life, when your mother still lived, it was probably she that remembered all important dates and occasions. Am I right about that? If your father was even around to be reminded of them at all?"

Jeren looked at her hands in her lap. "You are right, I suppose, as usual. Papa was not around that much—which is another bitterness I hold against him unfairly. But unfair or not, it is still something he neglected to give me in my life, and I have spent many a long hour and day—and week—even month—alone—waiting for him to come home and be my father! Am I to simply forget that he was never there; say 'oh well, perhaps in my next childhood, Papa can do better?' I have no next childhood to live again, so what was lost is lost forever."

Jeren stopped speaking, knowing it did no good to lament over things lost. After a moment, she continued, "I will work through it—with your help of course—and get beyond it so that I can love my Papa fully and not think of it any more with bitterness. I wish to only think of it as something that was, that could not be helped. That is the mature way to think of it and that is my goal."

"You have grown up much, Dear One," Elrond told her sincerely. "You will meet your goals; and I will help you as much as I am able."

"Yet now I regret not saying goodbye," Jeren said woefully.

"He understands more than you know," Elrond assured her. "I am not sure Elrohir will forgive you, however. He was most irate with you!" The Elf lord laughed so she knew he was teasing her. "He had me hold this for you." He handed her a rolled parchment tied with a pretty pink silk ribbon.

Jeren smiled and accepted the message, untying the ribbon and smoothing out the paper. The message was written in Elrohir's smooth script:

_My Dearest Young Lady—_

_While Brother did not tell me what you said, he did tell me he had a talk with you regarding what we spoke about a few days ago. I am happy you found the courage to speak with him, and hopefully, ease your mind. I know not if he gave you the answers you sought, and if not, my heart is in sorrow for you. I love you, and I would have you achieve your every dream, but only if it is truly in your destiny._

_By the time you read this, I will be long from Imladris. Elladan also told me we missed a very momentous occasion two days ago, and I am exceedingly sorry that I cannot now in person wish you a belated 'Happy Seventeenth Birthday'. I have infused this message with a special Elven hug and kiss that will be delivered upon your completion of the reading of this missive, so be ready when the last word passes through your mind's eye. Are you ready?_

_I love you—_

_Elrohir_

Jeren laughed and dropped her hands into her lap as she finished the letter, looking up at Elrond once again.

"Elrohir beats everything, does he not?" she asked his father.

"He beats everything _twice_!" Elrond replied with a laugh.

Jeren grew serious once again. "I spoke with Elladan before he left."

Elrond pursed his lips, wondering what his son had told the girl and hoping he'd not hurt her.

"Do you want to talk about what he said?" the Elf lord asked her.

"He told me the two of us could never be," she replied.

"And did he tell you why?" Elrond queried.

"He did, and I understand, but I don't want to understand," she said, knowing she sounded strange, but not caring.

"These things are difficult," Elrond admitted. "The heart has a mind of its own at times and does not want to do the logical thing."

"Well," Jeren said as she let out a breath, "Elladan could not have been plainer. He doesn't want to put himself through the insanity of loving a Human woman, so he won't even try. That's the end of it, according to him, so there is nothing I can do but accept it. Correct?"

"If that is what he said," Elrond agreed, "I suppose that is all you can do." Inwardly, Elrond breathed a sigh of relief. His son had come through! He had let Jeren down easily, with a very plausible argument. However, it could very well be the way Elladan felt about the whole situation of Elves trying to bond with Humans. Elrond truly didn't know.

He'd discussed the perils of Elves having intimate relationships with Humans on many occasions with his children, and they knew the Elf lord's opinion of it without any doubt. Ane his opinion was that it was not done. However, what they would decide in their own lives was something else altogether. Whatever Elladan's cause for using this particular argument, Elrond was proud of him for thinking of it! This had been a very delicate situation and Elladan had handled it very well.

"Have you any work for me to do, my lord?" Jeren asked, changing the subject. She no longer felt like dwelling on this. It was only succeeding in depressing her further. She had many years to think about this, after all—her whole lifetime.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Elrond said. He reached across his desk and picked an apple up from the corner of it. He handed the piece of fruit to Jeren and she took it, her brows drawn together in a frown of confusion.

"Would you kindly take that apple down to the stables and feed it to Tuile?" Elrond asked her. "Elrohir had to leave her here this trip because she cut her foot on a sharp stone a few days ago and was not yet healed. She was most unhappy when she noticed he was preparing to ride another in her place, and he promised her an apple a day until his return. Would you take on the task of fulfilling Elrohir's promise to Tuile in his absence?"

"That Elrohir beats everything, does he not?" Jeren asked, her spirits up just a tad. "I always thought it was Elladan that had the kind heart—and he does have a kind heart to be sure—but I am not sure that Elrohir's heart is not just as kind, if not kinder. What do you think, Lord Elrond?"

"I think you have figured my son out quite well, Jeren," he answered her. "Elrohir is full of mischief and jests, but inside, where it counts, his heart is as large as the entirety of Arda."

"Well let me go and greet Tuile with her daily gift then," Jeren said with a little grin. She dropped a kiss on the Elf lord's cheek, then left the study to his fond farewell.

It took her not long to get to the stables, and to find Tuile. She looked not too much worse for the wear, but horse's feet could not be chanced with—especially for long journeys through rough terrain, when anything could happen, and the rangers and Elves needed to be on their toes at all times.

Jeren ran her hand over the mare's sleek neck, thinking about her owner. Elrohir was such a sweet person. He was very vexing and exasperating at times, that was for sure. Lately, though, while Jeren had been having so many problems, he had been there for her through thick and thin. If she had ever had a brother—she would have chosen Elrohir. And she would have been so proud to be a sister of his!

She walked back slowly to the Last Homely House, taking time to look down through the beauty of Imladris. She wondered if Elrohir had truly meant what he said in the letter he had written: _I would have you achieve your every dream, but only if it is truly in your destiny. _

Jeren wondered if Elladan was her destiny—or not? Was she simply a girl in love with the person who saved her life? He was handsome and kind and brave—was that what she was in love with? But Elrohir had been there at the homestead with Elladan, and had also helped save her life. He had been the one to stitch her wounds closed. He had used his Elven magic and chanting to ease her pain and help her sleep; yet she did not feel the same kind of love for him that she felt for his brother. She knew in her heart that it was not simply a girlish infatuation, this love she had for Elladan.

No, she was not going to turn her back on her own heart. She had lived her entire life pleasing others—mainly her father. It was high time she began living her life for herself, because as she had just discussed with Lord Elrond, she had but one life to live, and she only got one try at it!

With this conclusion drawn, she drew another: she knew not if Elladan would ever have her, but she knew she would never have another. If the experiences of these past several weeks had taught her anything, it was that life was too short to settle for second best.

And she would not.

The End

For now


End file.
